Leave of Absence
by HeartsandEyesDelight
Summary: Grissom needs to take a leave of absence from Vegas after a difficult case and goes to teach at Harvard, where a young Sara is beginning school. Dark, adult themes, and OOC. But, as always, GSR. Now Complete!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or CSI or any of that. And I'm not making money.

A/N: Soo, this is another one of those that will be updated sporadically, but I couldn't get it out of my head the entire time I was out of town for the nephew/godson's baptism. :)

Fair warning: This one starts out a little graphic, and I'm toying with the idea of having both Sara and Grissom be rather OOC in this one, because my head been's playing with a myriad of dark concepts with these two... yeah.

I'll give you fair warning if I do tend to lean that way. Chances are, either way, it'll still be OOC and a little dark. Grissom will be manipulative and at least a little cruel, and Sara will be much weaker than she truly is.

Sorry if this upsets you but, as I said, fair warning. :) Let me know what you think, so far.

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Chapter One:

It was a triple homicide—all three victims under the age of five—that made me put in for an extended leave of absence. Their mother was an addict of too many drugs to name—uppers, downers, pharmaceuticals, and street drugs, laced with things she was quite probably entirely unaware of—and had left her children in the care of her dealer/boyfriend.

Very little else need be explained.

The eldest was Hunter, a four year old boy found in Spiderman pajamas, bruised and battered. My instinct was that he had taken the runt of the abuse because he had tried to protect his sister, McKaela, the two year old. The drug dealer/boyfriend owed a good deal of money to a drug dealer/pedophile—and the girl made them square.

We found her alive, and for the first day or so they thought she might live… although it was clear within the first hour that she'd never have children. When we found her, she wasn't wearing anything but hand-shaped bruises on her arms and hips and rivers of her own dried blood down her legs.

The baby was three months old—Jeremiah—and had been simply left in his crib after his siblings were left for dead while the dealers made their getaway. We found that bodies two days after the attack, when their mother came down enough to remember that she had children and yet didn't know where they were. She couldn't get ahold of her boyfriend and so she called the police to his apartment.

But two days in an apartment in Vegas in the summertime without food or water—well, it was a miracle the girl made it as long as she did. A miracle or a greater horror. But the infant could not be expected to last as long as the two year old.

The fact that we knew exactly who the men were did nothing for me—they were probably in Mexico by now or existing under a false identity. When a month passes and they hadn't even been sighted and the daily rollercoaster marathon still did nothing to ease my mind and my guilt, I put in a leave of absence and dug through piles of letters I had left unanswered, requesting me to be a guest speaker or teacher for a semester or so, hoping that the distance—both mental and geographic—would allow me to sleep without seeing their faces.

The most promising was Harvard—I had never lived further east than Chicago, but I had loved visiting New England. Besides, Harvard's anthropology department had invited me to be a guest professor for an entire year… and I was fairly certain I would need at least a year away from Vegas. I made some calls—I would be a guest lecturer at the beginning of the fall semester, only a week or so away, and have a nine week class in the second half of the semester. For the spring, I could take on a full class load, if I wanted it.

I rented out my townhouse, hired movers to transfer my worldly possessions to either a storage building in Vegas or a storage building in Boston, and hopped on a place. I found an apartment to rent only days before classes started, and hired another set of movers. I still hardly slept, but something did feel different here, away from the heat and the lights and the constant chiming of slot machines. I breathed easier—deeper—and I felt calm for the first time in a long time.

My first guest lecture was simple—I was speaking to a graduate level class on the uses of entomology in forensics, from timeline regression to applications in toxicology and trace, and everything in between. This was not the most interesting and exciting of lectures, even for me, and I began to wonder whether my hiatus would do half of what I had expected it to do for me. My second guest lecture proved me wrong.

It was an intro level course in forensic anthropology and the lecture hall was not full of bored grad students wondering who the visiting 'bug-man' was—it was full of young, excited freshman, eager and amazed at the entire concept of forensics in general, and that was where I found myself in my element. They had so many questions their professor invited me back the next week so that everyone could make it to their next classes.

As rows and rows of students filed out and I watched them, beaming with pride and a sense of contentment that had long-since eluded me, I caught sight of _her_. And she changed everything.

She looked… young. Very young.

She was clad in dark blue jeans that were snugger than her father would have let her leave the house in and layered tank tops—black and white—though the layers did nothing to disguise the long lines and delicate curves of her willowy frame. A halo of brown curls fell around her, falling just below her shoulders, and her eyes were soft and gentle… doe's eyes. She smiled at me as she slipped a tan messenger bag over her shoulder and sidled out of the lecture hall, and I was drawn to her by some unknown force as strong and as invisible as gravity.

When I returned the following week, she was in the front row… in the shortest pair of jean shorts I had ever seen—and her long, tanned legs stretched out in front of her forever, a pair of red flip flops on feet accented with red polish perfectly matching her red tank top. I couldn't keep my eyes from her—I was practically salivating.

But I was thirty-two years old and based on how young she appeared and the fact that it was an intro level course, she couldn't be older than eighteen or nineteen at most—even if I wasn't her teacher, I was far too old for her. She wouldn't even be interested.

She and one or two others asked the majority of the questions, and I took the last fifteen minutes to advertise my nine week course to the group—"An Introduction to Applied Psychodynamics in Forensics." We would be looking into analyzing and processing crime scenes and guiding our search for evidence based on what we knew about people and their psychological predispositions.

I watched my chocolate beauty write down the class name and number and smiled, both hopeful and reluctant to have her in my class.

Of course, she was.

I walked in, almost nervous, on the first day—it was a small class of ten people, and as my coming had been rather unexpected, our classroom was one of the student lounges in the Anthropology building. What this meant was that ten students were seated on couches and arm chairs which lined the walls of a not-so-large room, and I ended up seating myself in the circle with students on either side.

Strange, but sort of nice too. I felt like it would facilitate discussion, at least.

"So… I know the first day can be a drag, but maybe we can make it a little more interesting. Here's the syllabus—if you have your hearts set on it, we can go through it in class but if not, I'd rather get to know all of you since we have such a small class."

I handed a stack of papers to the student beside me and sighed.

"So, I'll tell you all a little about myself, and then everyone can go around and do the same, sound good?" I got a few smiles and nods, but mostly blank stares. I grinned. "Maybe we should make this more interesting than a name and where you're from, so… let's make a list." I stood and turned to the white board on the wall behind me and wrote numbers down vertically.

1. Full Name and why you were named

2. Silliest Nickname

3. Where you're from

Then I turned to my class who all now had amused smiles on their faces. "Any other suggestions?" We ended up with:

4. Biggest Pet Peeve

5. Guilty Pleasure

6. Why forensics?

7. Why not forensics?

8. Favorite book

9. Favorite weekend activity

10. Something we don't know about you from the other questions

They were openly laughing as I took my seat. "Alright, let's see…" I glanced up behind me at the list. "My full name is Gilbert Isaiah Grissom. My grandfather's name was Gilbert, and my mother was quite the devout Catholic, thus the middle name. Oh, and for the record, you can just call me 'Grissom.' Everybody does. …Okay, next question. Silliest nickname—I would have to say "bug-man," although if any of you try to use it, you can expect an F for your final grade."

They chuckled appreciatively at my bad joke—the girl smiling brightly, revealing a slight gap in between her front teeth, her eyes locked on me—and I grinned; I had really missed teaching. "Alright, I'm from Las Vegas, but I grew up in the L.A. area. My biggest pet peeve is probably… people referring to insects as 'bugs,' but that's just the entomologist in me talking. Ah… guilty pleasure, Mmm… chocolate-covered grasshoppers. I get mad at others for using exterminators, and yet I eat insects as candy… it's a little backwards…"

Most of them made faces—my brown-eyed girl did not.

"I chose forensics because it was… well, a calling, almost. Using science—my first love—for good, you know? Real, immediate good, rather than the abstract, sometime-in-the-future good. And… why not forensics? You end up seeing horrors that are better left unseen, and if you're not careful, you stop seeing the science and the justice, and all you do see is the victims you couldn't save and their attackers you couldn't catch…"

The room was very quiet and after a moment, I cleared my throat and smiled, to break the tension. I felt brown eyes piercing me, and for the first time, I disliked it.

"So, uh…" I glanced back at the board, "My favorite book is actually a play—Hamlet—and my favorite weekend activity is probably having enough time off to stay in my sweats all day and take in a few baseball games—the cubs, the twins, or the angels. Sorry if any of you are Red Sox fans. And something you wouldn't know… growing up I always wanted a dog, but my mother was allergic, so I never got to have one."

They were smiling again, and I turned to the boy beside me and he began speaking. I listened to all of them, but the girl—Sara—was the only one I remembered in detail.

She smiled again, shyly. "I'm Sara Myra Sidle. Sara was the name my mother had wanted to name a daughter since she was little, and Myra was my grandmother's name. Um… I guess, the only nickname I've really had was… my older brother used to call me "Sar'-Bear". I'm from Tomales Bay, which is... outside San Francisco. My biggest pet peeve would be... when you see a girl pretending to be an idiot in order to attract a guy…"

She rolled her eyes in irritation at just the thought, and glanced at the list on the board. "My guilty pleasure would be…" She blushed a gorgeous pink shade and her eyes flickered to me and then away, the red in her cheeks deepening. "I guess, uh… trashy romance novels. I know they're so cliché and that it's hardly good literature but… it's like a grown-up's fairy tale, you know? …I think real life should have more happy endings."

She looked at her knees, and then the board again. "I guess I haven't chosen forensics yet, but… I'm considering it as a major because… It's a way I can provide justice by doing what I already know I'm good at. The most socially beneficial application of my skills… why not forensics? I… well, I kind of thought I'd be a physics teachers, maybe. So… I'm torn between the two." She looked up, and caught my eyes again.

"My favorite book is The Grapes of Wrath, my favorite way to spend a weekend is… probably in a bubble bath, with a book. And what you don't know about me from all of this is… I loved the ocean and all ocean-related activities. Surfing, sailing, wind-surfing… all of the above."

She smiled shyly again, her eyes flickering to me, and I felt my heart flutter. I couldn't have her—I knew that I couldn't—but thinking about her reading a trashy romance novel and getting excited by it… in a bubble bath… the idea of letting the phrase "Sar'-Bear" fall from my lips… it sent shivers down my spine.

Sara Sidle was going to be dangerous.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own them, etc.

A/N: So by the end of this chapter I think you'll see where I'm going with this... and why it will be dark and how Grissom will be icky. :(

But you can't always have fluff, you know? :)

Let me know what you think.

* * *

Chapter Two:

I really enjoyed having a small class. The first week we discussed the basic categories under which motivation could be defined—power, sex, anger, revenge… and debated whether altruism could be added to that list. Was it truly possible for humans to act in solely selfless ways—or was all selflessness merely a means to an end? The small numbers meant a lively debate that all were involved in.

Mike Greene, whose pet peeve I remembered was hearing people crack their knuckles, argued that of course people could act selflessly, and proceeded with a generic argument about charities, etc.

Jordan Reck, who said he would like to spend a weekend snowboarding, made the point that a lot of people would start out in charities and move on to bigger organizations. He brought up that charities are often criticized for the salaries they pay their executives, and the argument they make is that to keep good, qualified people, they need to pay competitively. How altruistic could that be?

Marie Elland, with her weakness for designer handbags, said that some people truly did help others simply to help… not in charities and not for money, but simply because it made them feel good.

Alex Baker, who was wavering between forensic anthropology and biological anthropology, pointed out that if it made them feel good, was it truly altruism, or simply a means to make one feel better about themselves?

Carrie Shaw, from South Dakota, said that simply because doing something good for someone else makes you feel good, it doesn't prove that that is the motivation behind it. The feel-good could be separate and unrelated.

Jenna Roberts, who claimed to never have had a nickname worse/sillier than Jen or Jenny, argued that you couldn't prove that the feel-good aspect of altruism wasn't the motivation either… to prove that people could be altruistic—truly and honestly so—you had to find an example in which they did the right thing, even when no part of them could feel good about it… even if they never knew that any good came of their efforts.

Jason Strait—who had endured a lot of interesting nicknames referring to his sexuality, growing up—didn't think such a scenario existed. If you believed you were doing the right thing, then you obviously had a sense of there being harm in not doing it… otherwise you couldn't classify it as 'right'. If you believed you were avoiding causing others harm, then you would feel good about it. There was no way to unknowingly be altruistic.

Lance Kuntz, winner of the national spelling bee when he was in fifth grade, asked where that left us. If we couldn't prove altruism, then we were left with two options—disregard the concept entirely, or take a leap of faith in believing that there were truly good people in the world who would continue doing good things, even if it didn't make them feel good.

Jackie Morgan—who didn't like the drink or horses, despite her namesake—said she wanted to believe in altruism. When left with those two options… the idea of disregarding it entirely was devastating. She could not let herself believe that humans were solely selfish beings and continue to have any faith in the world she lived in.

Sara Sidle, who had haunted my dreams since the moment I saw her, told us that we had a biological predisposition to be selfish. Primitive humans survived by only looking out for their own survival and that of their offspring—if we ruled out the concept of karma, which couldn't be proven either—we were left with the understanding that those who might have been truly altruistic probably did not survive nearly as often as the selfish and cowardly.

We had self-serving genes… it had helped us continue as a species… any act, therefore, of altruism, even if motivated by a desire to feel good, was still going beyond our genetic leanings and was therefore admirable. And if the feel-good was enough to motivate altruism all on its own, the world would be a better place, she reasoned. It certainly couldn't be as strong a motivator as anger or sex or even blind faith in religion.

I had never been in love, and so I didn't know exactly what it felt like. All I knew was that I longed for her in a way I couldn't describe—she was just so smart… so intoxicating, so alluring, so god-damned tempting.

On days when the only empty chair in the room was beside her, I found it impossible to concentrate. She seemed to want to flaunt her youth and beauty at every turn—tight clothing, short shorts, low-cut tops… nothing so revealing that any might criticize her for under dressing… she still looked beautiful and respectable… but there was always just enough skin showing to send my mind places it had no business being.

On the bright side, I wasn't having the nightmares anymore. I slept soundly… too soundly. I dreamt of her constantly. I was changing my sheets four times a week.

And then she started staying after class.

The first day excited me. We had been talking about sex as a motivating factor—and the difference between men and women in the manner in which it motivated them. As the others filed out and I began to gather my papers and reference books, I realized she had not moved from her seat three places down from me. I glanced up at the door, and as the last person slipped out, I turned to her, waiting to see what she needed…

"Professor—"

"Grissom."

She blushed a brilliant shade, and her voice came shyly. "…Grissom. I, uh… well, I was wondering what you thought on… the matter."

I cocked an eyebrow, "The matter?" I was certain she meant the topic of discussion, but for some reason I wanted to hear her say it… watch those petal pink lips form the words.

"Ah… sex, as… as a motivator… by gender. You… you didn't really give an opinion, today, and… well, I don't really care what Miss-designer-handbags-and-no-brain thinks about it… but, I… well, I really care what _you_… think."

I licked my suddenly dry lips, almost compulsively, and her cheeks pinked again. "Well, ah… you know, I'm sure some students want to use the lounge…"

"Oh. ... Right. I'm sorry, I—"

"No, Sara, I… I just meant, maybe we should move this to my office…"

Those deep brown eyes widened and she drew in a deep breath, nodding. "Yeah… yeah, of course. Thank you."

I chuckle softly. It's endearing how nervous she is—she never seems nervous talking to the whole class… just one-on-one with me, apparently. I feel a tightening in my stomach at this realization, and try to prevent it from going to my head. Shifting the stack of papers in my grasp, I smiled lightly at her and gestured with my head that she should precede me out… my eyes flickered down, as she moved through the doorway, and I had to stifle a groan. Was there any part of her that would not absolutely drive me crazy?

I followed her through hallways lined with displays from around the world—we were in the anthropology building—and down into the basement and my office. She stopped at the doorway, as if reluctant to let herself in, even if I was following behind her. I smiled again, moving past her—and rather close to her, in the process… she smelled like grapefruit and mandarin oranges and honey and my eyelids fluttered closed in response to the sensory assault—to unlock the door and open it, gesturing her inside before me once more.

She took one of the seats in front of my desk and I closed the door behind me, sliding around to my seat and resting my armful on one of the few empty places on my desk. Her eyes flickered to the door, and then around the room. It was not large, but not particularly small, either. In the back left-hand corner was my desk area—a corner desk with one side against the left wall, home to my computer, the other side jutting out into the room to put a barrier between my chair and the two resting almost stereotypically in front of the desk.

The back wall had a long row of small windows, up by the ceiling, as we were in the basement, and below them several maps and diagrams and even a painting or two of my mothers. Along the right wall were several tall bookcases, although one shelf was void of books, instead housing a terrarium with my spider inside and an irradiated fetal pig that I had not trusted the movers with, and so had had to come to Boston with me.

She smiled and turned back to me. "I really like your office… most teachers' offices are… boring."

I grinned. "You make a habit of frequenting your professor's offices?" I asked it teasingly, but the question was sincere. I wanted to gauge how common this interaction was, for her.

She blushed. "Well, for… questions or… clarification, yes. I, uh… I'm kind of a nerd, that way."

I shook my head. "No, not a nerd… you're very bright, Sara. There's no reason for that to be… something to be embarrassed of."

And something strange happened, in that moment—her face lit up like I hadn't seen it, even when she was smiling brightly in class. Her eyes were wide and hopeful, her lips parted in what almost looked like supplication, and I realized, in the space of a breath, the power I had over this young woman.

I wasn't certain that she desired me as I desired her… couldn't be certain that our feelings were mutual. In fact, they probably weren't, because she didn't see me as her equal. But her reaction to a single, simple, obvious compliment… she adored me. Admired me. _Revered me._

…And if I couldn't be her lover—and I _couldn't_ be, I _knew_ this—it was quite possible that I could still possess her, in some way.

Perhaps that sounds chauvinistic of me—but is not any lover possessive of their mate? If they were not, jealousy would not exist… If I couldn't love her, possessiveness was tolerable. It would ease the burning need in my chest and the searing longing that came from every part of me, so that I could not locate it, only feel its presence acutely.

So I settled into a strictly academic conversation with her, but I made certain to leave her guessing. I would jump on any mistake or logical fallacy in her reasoning, and exploit it, to ensure that she continued to admire me as a superior… and I gave compliments, sparingly, that took as much as they offered… bestowing upon her my admiration as much as my disapproval.

And by the end of the hour she spent in my office, she was working desperately for my approval… I could see it in her eyes, her entire body. She leaned forward in earnest, eyes imploring… and I continued to give her, casually, only enough to keep her trying for more. To prevent her giving up, and yet not satisfying her… because then she would have no need of me.

When she apologized and said she needed to get to her next class, her cheeks were red and her hands still fluttered about her uncertainly, her words meek. I smiled brightly at her and thanked her for the lively discussion, and her face alighted again, and she seemed reluctant to go. She finally did, when I raised my eyebrows at her hovering… stammering and almost stumbling.

Perhaps it wasn't right... but now she needed me. If I played my cards right, she would be mine without my ever claiming her… I would cross no boundaries, and yet I could have her, whenever I wanted her, in every sense but the physical. …If I did this correctly, that is. She was very smart… smart and not nearly as trusting as I would have hoped. She seemed keenly aware of the evils of human nature… and so I would have to be careful.

Possessing Sara would take much more than a few backhanded compliments… it would be a seduction, of sorts… and I would have to move slowly, to gain that trust she lacked. But I wanted her more than I wanted to breathe… and this was the only way I could have her.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

A/N: Again and again: Dark. Grissom is yicky. OOC. :)

Let me know what you think of it. Especially Grissom being not very nice. For some twisted reason, I kind of find him sexy this way... in the way that bad guys in movies can be sexy, until they do something really bad, and then it ruins it, you know? hehe.

Oh, and thanks for all the reviews so far! They mean the world... especially since I wasn't sure how people would react to an icky Grissom. The reviews let me know to keep posting, 'cause if no one likes the story, I won't fill up the site with it, you know? :)

Okay, enjoy!

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Chapter Three:

Nine weeks pass faster than you think. Sara stayed after class once every other week or so, to follow me to my office and discuss the topics of the day with me. It started only when I didn't offer my opinion in class, but the more I felt like she was drawn to me, the more often I gave my opinions—and she started coming anyway, despite knowing what I thought on the matter. She was telling me that she wanted to talk to me, not simply clarify the subject matter of the day, and that was what I wanted to hear.

In the lead up to finals week I saw her less, however, which was disheartening, but I understood—Sara had told me she had a full ride here as long as she kept her grades up, so finals were very important. Still, I was upset when the semester ended and she had not come to see me to discuss the final or ask about classes for the next semester—she had signed up for one of the two I was offering—nor to even say goodbye before the Christmas break. It occurred to me that I didn't even know what she was doing over the break, and this upset me further. Perhaps I didn't really have the sway over her I had initially thought.

But on the second day of break I sat in my office, freezing because the heat had been turned down since the building would be mostly empty over the break, trying to finish the writing of my syllabi which I had put off all semester, and a knock came on my door. I looked up in surprise—as far as I knew, I had been the only person in the building when I arrived almost an hour previously.

"Come in." I called, watching the door curiously. And in she stepped—much more warmly dressed than I had seen her all year. She had worn shorts through the end of October, and short sleeves through November—when we got our first snow. Then it was sweatshirts and jeans and boots—but today she was clad in a coat, hat, scarf, and gloves to go with the boots.

I smiled endearingly at the picture she made, bundled up, in my doorway. "Sara… I… I figured you'd be in Tomales Bay for the holidays…"

She closed the door behind her, as was her custom now, and moved to sit in the chair I had come to think of as _hers_ in front of my desk, slipping her gloves off her hands. "No, I… I don't really have… much to go home to."

I tilted my head, my eyes requesting more information, and she shrugged and looked away, silently denying me. I realized, almost as a background consideration, that I would need to know Sara's past before I could have her future… or even her present. I added it to my to-do list, and leaned forward in my chair, taking in the delicate dusting of snow on her dark green stocking cap, a perfect match to her gloves and a striking accent to her black pea coat. The only thing which looked out-of-place was the blue, white, and green striped scarf wrapped around her long neck. She was more beautiful every time I saw her.

"Well, it's nice to see you… here I thought you'd forgotten all about me." She beamed.

Hmm… maybe that was too vulnerable a statement. I didn't want her to think she had power over _me_… that threw everything of—as equals, I couldn't have any of her. But then, no one ever let their guard down to someone who had no vulnerabilities… no humanity. Maybe I would have to make a point of revealing my humanity, every once and a while.

"I couldn't do that… finals were a little hectic, especially since my roommate decided it would be best for her final grades if she talked on the phone until eleven every night, went out drinking, woke me up by stumbling in at three, and kept me awake by vomiting violently until six."

My lips quirked sympathetically, "Ah. I love _those_ college students."

She grinned appreciatively and slid her hat from her head and started unwrapping the scarf from around her head. "Well, anyway, I spent every moment she wasn't present trying to cram in my studying, so I had trouble finding time to…" she hesitated, not wanting to say she'd had trouble finding time to come see me. Because you didn't just visit professors the way you visited friends, usually.

I smiled, letting her spend a slight moment in discomfort before speaking and saving her from her hesitation. "I'm glad you did. I missed our conversations." Her face lit up again, and I felt my whole being fill up with a light that only she could exude. "Well, at least you'll have your room to yourself for a couple weeks, right? That should be a nice respite…"

That though drove me crazy too—there was something alluring about the concept of taking her in her dorm room… it screamed of innocence and youth and defenselessness.

She smiled ruefully. "Actually, no. Something about her parents spending Christmas in Cabo… well, anyway, she's here for the whole break as well as some of her favorite drinking buddies… it's going to be a long two weeks."

I raised my eyebrows in surprise, my head tilting again. "Maybe you should go home after all… whatever's back there has got to be better than all that…" My concern this time was genuine—uncalculated. I wanted her in Boston, but I didn't want her miserable. I just wanted her to be mine. Perhaps true selflessness existed after all…

She shook her head, her eyes focused on her boots now. "No, I… When I said I didn't have much to go home to, I meant… I don't have anything to go home to. There… wouldn't even be a place for me to stay."

My eyes ask the question again, and I know she can feel them on her face, because she shakes her head again, her slim fingers moving to unbutton her coat and slide it off her shoulders to rest on the back of her chair. She keeps her head down, and I have a moment to run my eyes over her body—I can actually see her nipples harden and become more defined beneath her shirt as the chill of the room reaches her, and she shivers, arms crossing to run her hands over them to warm herself. "Brr! It's cold in here!"

I look quickly to her face, before she can realize where my gaze was really trained. "Yeah, they… turned the heat down, since they figured the building would be mostly unoccupied for the next two weeks. Why…" I hesitate, but push forward anyway. She needs to see me as someone she can trust, in addition to being her respected teacher, if she'll ever be mine. "Why don't we go to a coffee shop to talk? It would be warmer…"

She nods, and we rise together, me quickly saving my document and shutting down the computer while she replaced all of her warm clothing over her slender frame. I pulled a coat from the back of my chair and slipped it on as she preceded me out of the room, before turning off the light and closing and locking my office door.

"Did you walk over here?" I ask her, and at her nod, I gesture her the opposite way down the hallway—to the back rather than the front door. "We'll drive… no sense in enduring the elements if we don't have to."

She nodded, and we moved down the empty and semi-dark hallway in silence, with me opening the door for her to step into the snowing evening and pointing out my car, although it was the only one in the lot, for her to move towards. I unlocked it, and we both slid in, shivering, while I started it and cranked the heat up.

"Is this your car, or a rental?"

"Leased, actually, by the university. It's a pretty good deal for me."

She smiled. "Sounds like it… do you have a favorite coffee shop or…"

I shook my head. "No, actually. I usually just have coffee at home or from the lounge…" She made a face, having tasted coffee from the lounge, and I laugh. "Well, Miss Picky, did you have a coffee place in mind?"

She shook her head as well. "No, I just fill up in the buildings I have my classes in… except for the anth. Building though…" She grinned, amused, and then a strange look crossed her face… like she wanted to say more, and didn't.

"What?"

"Nothing." She shook her head.

I nudged her playfully, and watched with satisfaction as a blush rose to her cheeks. "Really, you can tell me… Semester's over, right? So, for now… we're just friends."

Her gaze flickered to me, and she drew in a deep breath. "I, uh… I was actually going to say that… that we could just go to your apartment for coffee, but… I figured it wasn't really appropriate, since… you're my teacher."

I smiled, despite myself, and took the next turn I could, to redirect my vehicle towards home. "Well… I did just say we were friends, right?"

She grinned, and we were quiet for a few more moments until I parked in my parking lot, guiding her with a soft, barely-there hand on the small of her back, to the door of my apartment. I closed the door behind her and for a moment we simply slough off shoes and coats and, in her case, all the extras. She slipped the hat, gloves, and scarf into her coat sleeve and I took it from her, hanging it in the hall closet along with my own while she moved into my living room, glancing around.

"It's very… you."

I grinned at that. "I would imagine so…"

She chuckled. "Sorry, just… for all the teacher's offices I've seen in a semester, I haven't yet seen a teacher's home…"

I smiled. "But I'm not your teacher right now, right? Here, let me get you some coffee…" I moved into the kitchen and she followed me at a slower pace, letting her eyes scan the room slowly. I busied myself with my coffee maker while she slid into one of the barstools at my breakfast bar and watched, her delicate fingertips drawing nonsense symbols on the marble countertop. "Sugar? Cream?"

"Sugar, thanks." She glanced up at me, and then turned a wistful gaze around the apartment behind her again. "It's so quiet, here. I think, next year, I'll have to get an off-campus apartment…"

I chuckled, pouring coffee into two mugs now. "Thinking about your roommate again?"

She nodded. "The next two weeks are really going to be horrible…"

Impulsively, I crossed a line that I could not step back across, for the life of me. It was not a calculated move, but I could not claim altruistic motivations this time either. "Why don't you stay here?"

Her lips parted in surprise, her eyes wide, and I hurried to explain myself. "I… I mean, in my spare bedroom. Just… so you can get some real sleep, you know?"

She looked down at the countertop. "You're… my teacher. Wouldn't that… look bad?"

I nod. "Yes, it probably would. Although, as I'm not a teacher by profession… it wouldn't be so bad. Even if… someone did find out… they wouldn't blame you, they would just fire me… I have a non-teaching job to return to."

She shook her head, slowly… sadly. "I… Grissom, I can't stay here."

I nodded, passing her her coffee and the sugar bowl, my eyebrows furrowed. When I didn't fill the silence, she did. "If someone found out, if they thought that it was… something more… it would be worse than you being fired, Grissom. I… I'm seventeen."

I choked on my mouthful of hot coffee and had to frantically cover my mouth to keep it from dribbling down my chin. "You're… what? How?"

She gave me an awkward half-smile. "I graduated when I was sixteen… I was advanced, for my age. I, uh… yeah. I just turned seventeen this September."

I nodded, wiping my hand over my mouth again, this time without reason to do so. My tongue felt like it had a dry film over it, and so I knew I'd burned it, but I couldn't focus on anything but her pale face in that moment. She was seventeen… no wonder she looked so young, when I first met her… so impressionable. She was practically a child.

I picked up the conversation, as if it were nothing, saying that I was sorry I couldn't let her stay, but that she was right… and she agreed, understandingly, and the topic shifted easily into classes for the next semester. And I tried very hard to quash my desire for her… to prevent myself from playing the mind games and winding her emotions tighter and tighter around me… to not keep making her seek my approval. But she did it almost automatically, now.

I told myself she was a child.

The soft moan she gave in drinking her coffee told me she was a woman.

I told myself she was innocent.

When I caught her eyes trailing over my body when she thought I wasn't looking, I knew that she wasn't.

I told myself that it was wrong.

When her eyes lit up at the smallest of gestures, I realized it didn't matter.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

A/N: For those who have asked, I'll be updating Destiny and Consequences, Baby either today, tonight, or at the latest tomorrow morning. I just had the morning from hell and so I'm not sure how much time I'll actually have today. And whenever I start a new story I have a hard time putting it down. :)

Oh, and the story is rated M for a reason. I believe someone asked for a little somethin' somethin'? Teehee. Here's a little, anyway...

...Yeah. Grissom is damned sexy this way. I can't help it, and I don't really like it, but he is. :)

* * *

Chapter Four:

I was aware it was a dream, even as it was happening, as I'd been having them almost nightly since I'd met her. But it was different, now. Somehow, in going from believing her to be eighteen or nineteen to knowing she was seventeen, something had shifted. I was now fairly certain she was a virgin, and for the past two nights, the dreams had been more intense, with that knowledge.

_She was lying in my bed, in her bra and panties… black lace, and nothing else. Her hands were bound in satin to the headboard, but her legs were left free, bent up and still parted invitingly. I could smell her arousal in the air, and I knew it was for me. I was hard—so fucking hard—but I held back, because she needed the anticipation. She needed to be acutely aware of how badly she wanted me. _

_If I was going to take her physically—something I knew I wouldn't do in real life—it had to be the same as when I hadn't planned to. I needed to retain the power to retain my claim on her… because she was so very young and beautiful. If she knew that I needed her—specifically her—everything would fall apart. She would leave me for someone she deserved… younger and better looking and far better in relationships. Even if she stayed, I would never feel so powerful… never be able to watch her struggle to please me and delight when I finally let her know she had. _

_But now—things the way they were—she was desperate for me and desperate to keep me. She would do anything… anything, for me. _

_I crawled, hand over hand, knee past knee, up from the foot of the bed, parting her legs as I encountered them and letting myself hover above her._

_"Do you want me, Sara?"_

_"Oh, god yes."_

_"Do you think I should give you what you want, Sara? Have you earned the pleasure I could give you…?"_

_She shuddered and tugged feebly at her restraints, causing a spasm of desire to shoot from my stomach down deeper, forcing me to bite back a growl. "No, but… I'll do anything. Anything, Grissom. Please…"_

_I bent down, sucking a nipple into my mouth, knowing how the rough lace of her bra would rub against it as I sucked. She writhed beneath me, moaning out loud, and I removed my mouth immediately. _

_"Do you want me to please you, Sara?"_

_"Yes! Yes, please… please…"_

_"Will you do exactly as I tell you, Sara?"_

_"Yes, Grissom. Anything."_

_"Close your eyes." She did. "If you open them, I'll stop…" She nodded her understanding, and I blew against the nipple I had just released, seeing it harden under the cold breath of air. She shivered and moaned, arching up, and I stopped. "You will lie still, and you will be silent, do you understand?"_

_She nodded, slowly, her eyes still tightly closed, and swallowed hard. I ran my fingertips over her body, and though goose bumps broke out across her delicately soft skin, she was still and silent, and I grinned. I gently lifted her torso and unhooked the bra, sliding it up her arms to rest next to her bound wrists, and tested her resolve, gently pinching the nipple I had neglected to this point. _

_She trembled, and bit her bottom lip. I pinched and twisted, and she shuddered beneath me, but did not arch against me, though every muscle in her body was clearly aching to do so. I ran my fingers down her stomach, feeling the muscles there twitch when I ran over a ticklish spot, and still she was obedient. I ran them over her inner thighs, hooked them into her panties, slid them down, and I heard her swallow hard. When I slid a finger between her legs, parting her, her toes curled up on the bed. _

_She was so, so wet. _

_I breathed in her scent, and looking back up to her face. "Has anyone ever touched you this way, Sara?"_

_She shook her head in silent obedience, her chest heaving with her heavy breathing and the effort it took to remain silent. _

_"Has any other man seen you naked, my Sara?"_

_Again, she shook her head no. I let my finger slowly circle her clitoris. Her whole body shook. I grinned, and slipped a finger slowly inside her. She squirmed, slightly, toes curling up again. _

_"Am I the only one who has ever been inside you, my sweet, sweet Sara?"_

_She nodded and I moved my finger slowly, sliding it out when I felt the muscles in her thighs tighten, choosing only to stimulate her small pearl, because I wanted to feel her innocence break when I pushed inside her. I wanted to know it had been the act of taking her which had made her irrevocably mine. _

_When she was wet enough—and practically hyperventilating with the effort it took to be still and silent—I positioned myself outside her, the head of my penis pressed snugly against her, weeping at her extreme warmth. _

_"Do you want me, Sara?" She nodded, her entire body tight with longing. "Who do you belong to?"_

_I pressed a little, my head slipping between her folds and just barely into her heat. She gasped out loud. "You. God, Grissom, I'm yours."_

_I smile, moving just the tip in and out, marveling at how very tight she is, and she trembles again. "Beg me to take you. Beg me, Sara, and then you can move… then you can speak."_

_"Oh, god, Griss… please, please… I need to feel you. I need you inside me. I've never needed anyone like this. Please, take me. Please… please, make me yours. Please, I… I want you so bad it hurts."_

_I slid in just a little further and she writhed frantically beneath me, desperate moans escaping her lips. "It will hurt you if I take you... hurt you if I don't…"_

_"It will hurt more if you don't. Please, Grissom. Please… I'll do anything… anything…"_

_I pushed just a little further, stopping when I felt the resistance… when I felt the physical proof that she was_ mine_. Mine and mine alone. I slid back, prepared to thrust through it hard—make certain she remembered the exact moment when I took her as my own. When she became completely mine…_

And the phone rang, startling me awake, my erection throbbing beneath the covers. I scrambled for it, in my haze assuming it was the lab calling… but no, I was in Boston. No one had called me past ten p.m. in months… I flipped it open, hesitantly.

"Hello?"

"Grissom?" Sara's voice. I drew in a shaky breath, a hand moving automatically down my body, simply to apply enough pressure to each the ache… to allow me to think and speak clearly.

"Sara? …What time is it? How… did you…"

"I called your office number, on the syllabus… your answering machine gave me your cell phone number. I… I know that, just a day or so ago, uh… we had said that it was… too great a risk, for you, but… do you think I could come over?"

I blinked, several times, in an effort to get my bearings. "Yes, of course, Sara. What's wrong?"

"I… my roommate… I walked here. Can I just… come up?"

I felt myself softening as concern overrode lust. "You walked here? From… from campus?"

She chuckled, but it was an empty sound. "Yeah… I, uh… is that okay, or…? I didn't know who else to call."

"No, of course. Come up. I'll be to the door in a second."

I leapt out of bed and pulled pajamas out of a drawer—I used to sleep in them, especially when it was cold, but the constant spontaneous nocturnal ejaculations had created enough laundry with just my sheets, I didn't need to wash pajamas after wearing them once too. Underwear, plaid pants, and a tee shirt, and then I rushed out of the room and to the door, where she was already standing, her cell phone clutched in her hand.

I ushered her inside, closing the door against the chill and letting my eyes take her in completely. The pea coat she wore was thin—no protection against the chill of two-thirty in the morning—and the same could be said for her hat and gloves. Her cheeks were wind-blown and raw, eyes watery and bloodshot from the wind, and when she removed her hat and gloves, I saw that her ears and fingers were nearly as red as her nose. I immediately worried about frost bite, and helped her out of her coat, because she seemed strangely lethargic.

"Sara, honey, maybe you should go take a bath… you might have frost bite. You're supposed to soak in luke-warm water…"

She turned to face me, and her eyes seemed strangely distant… like she couldn't focus on me. I shook my head and took control, pulling her gently into the guest bathroom—the bathroom with a tub—and ran water while pulling off her sweater and, after only a moment's hesitation, her jeans, socks, and shirt, leaving her in a bra, tank top, and underwear. I averted my eyes from this sight—even in my fantasies, twisted as they might be, she was always consensual and aware. I wanted to claim her, but not to rape her. There was always mutual pleasure in the fantasies…

I guided her to the tub and eased her down until she was mostly submerged, making sure that her hands, feet, and ears were covered. I found a wash cloth, dipped it in the water, and draped it over her nose and cheeks, just to be safe. I looked back to her eyes—she looked a little more focused now, and I sensed that some of the red in her cheeks was not solely from the wind burn. This was a good sign.

I smiled, gently. "I'm not looking at you, Sara. I promise. You stay here… I'm going to find you something to wear, okay? We're just going to keep you warm."

She nodded, and her eyes expressed her thanks. I rushed from the room, conflicted with myself once again. I didn't really want to possess her… not in the crude way that I was attempting to. But I couldn't be her lover… especially now that I knew she was seventeen. That was statutory rape. And I couldn't be nothing to her… or simply an admired teacher. I needed to have her in some way. It was contrary to how I felt—like I only wanted what was best for her, only wanted her happiness—but I needed it.

I could not live without her now.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own them.

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews! Yay sexy-bad-Grissom! :) I'm glad others like him too. This chapter is sweeter than most will probably be, but I can't help it. I don't want him to be too horrible, because then I won't be able to have a happy ending and though I'm not certain if they'll have one or not, I don't want to throw the option out the window just yet. You know?

Let me know what you think!

* * *

Chapter Five:

I found another pajama set and left them in the bathroom for her to change into, once I was certain she wasn't about to lose any fingers or toes from frostbite. I left her to get out, dry, and dress, and went and made hot chocolate for us to drink while we talked… because I needed an explanation for what had happened tonight, and it would keep her warm.

I was setting the mugs on the coffee table in my living room when I heard the bathroom down open and she slipped out in my favorite pajamas—dark blue with red ants all over the pants, and a white tee shirt. She had removed her bra, which was now wet from her soaking in the tub, and I made an effort not to look for the outline of her breasts in the white shirt, because it wouldn't be right. She wasn't right, tonight.

I gestured to the couch and she slid onto it, tucking her long legs under her and smiling a strange, amused smile. I grinned in response—I couldn't help it. "What?"

"…These pajamas. I have ants in my pants." She giggled, very much like a little girl, and I couldn't help but laugh too.

"They were actually a gift for Christmas, last year, from my mother. She thought the 'ants-in-my-pants' thing was fairly funny as well."

She smiled, reaching for the mug in front of her and blowing across the top of the liquid before taking a slow, hesitant drink. "Are you… really close to your mom?"

I tilted my head. I hadn't expected to be talking about myself… I wasn't sure how to respond. I had resolved to let her in, a little… enough to gain her trust. This could be my opening… but then, she'd obviously had a bad night. Maybe it wasn't right, to do this now… not that it was ever right, but it felt worse, tonight.

I looked at my knees and then glanced back at her, choosing to ignore the question altogether. Later, I could tell her, and it would feel like I was revealing more when I did. "What… what happened, tonight?"

She looked away from me, into the swirling brown depths of the cup in her hands, and sighed. "Bridget came in to the room about an hour ago, and promptly passed on in bed. She… she'd come up with a guy, not her boyfriend, I don't think, but… well, I don't really know, either. And after she passed out, he kept trying to talk to me, and I was half-asleep, you know? I… he sat on the end of my bed, he…"

She drew in a shuddering gasp and my eyes widened. "Sara, honey… did he… we shouldn't have put you in water. I didn't know…"

She shook her head, slowly. "He didn't rape me, Grissom. But… thank you, for the concern. He just… got a little handsy, and I got mad and slapped him, and he pushed me down on the bed and held me down… told me… all the things he was going to do to me." She squeezed her eyes closed tightly.

"I, uh… I kneed him… in the ba—_groin_," she blushed. "…and took off. …grabbed my coat and ran outside… he followed me, but I hid… and when he realized he was locked out of the building, he left but… I didn't have my keys and… I didn't want to be back there. I… I couldn't just go back upstairs like… like nothing had happened. You know?"

I nod, slowly, and she hesitantly slid each of the sleeves up from where they brushed against her elbows, showing me hand-shaped bruising around her upper arms. I squeezed my eyes shut tightly, reminding myself of her only a moment before. "Sara, we need to take you down to the police station… file a report…"

She shook her head frantically. "He… didn't do anything to me. He didn't… I just… I want it to go away. I don't want…" She drew in breath again, too quickly, and I realized she was beginning to hyperventilate. She looked like she was on the verge of a panic attack, and that she might even be going into shock. I took the blanket from the back of the couch and wrapped it around her shoulders tightly, gently running my arms up and down hers, to transfer warmth, offering soothing words in my softest voice until she had calmed.

"…Thanks, Griss. I… I don't know what I would have done, if you hadn't—"

I pressed a finger to her lips and nearly moaned at how soft they were. "Don't, Sara. You don't need to thank me just for being a friend… hell, just for offering a little human decency. Okay?"

She nodded, slowly, and took a sip of hot chocolate. It was quiet after that—the silence was soft and comfortable, and I enjoyed it. It helped me stay calm, instead of raging against the man who had dared to put a hand on _my_ Sara and going on a desperate mission to seek him out and tear him limb from limb.

When several minutes had passed this way, I let my mind drift back over the conversation, settling on the question I had left unanswered. I glanced up at her, letting some hesitance slip into my gaze. "…I am very close with my mother."

She looked at me in surprise, raising her eyebrows, and turned to face me more fully, tugging the blanket more snugly around herself. "…Tell me about her."

And so I spent twenty minutes—and another cup of hot chocolate for both of us—describing the woman who looked so little like me that my father used to joke he'd be worried if it were the other way around. My mother did not appreciate these comments, and I didn't understand them at the time, but he would laugh at himself enough for the three of us.

I told Sara about how she'd gone deaf when I was four—and that I remember talking to her and her hearing me, but not well. I told her about learning sign language to communicate, and how quiet the house was, after my father died, because we so rarely spoke aloud in private. I told her about my mother's paintings, and the gallery she ran, and how she'd never thought I was strange for performing necropsies on neighborhood animals who'd met untimely ends.

I told her about how I would read aloud to her, so that she could practice reading lips, and how it became a favorite activity, before I got too old to want to spend that amount of time with my mother. We would sit on the couch, her palm pressed squarely to my chest to feel the vibrations of my voice—the thing she said she regretted most not being able to hear—her eyes fixated on my mouth as I read the classics.

I had not really meant to reveal so much—but Sara put me at ease, and I had missed talking about my mother. I rarely talked about my personal life, even to friends at work… and then, in the brief silence that followed, she sighed softly, and closed her eyes.

"My mother is in prison." The confession came softly, almost as if she were afraid, and I raised my gaze to her face… tears brimmed, shimmering, in her eyes, threatening to fall at any moment, and she wouldn't look at me. I narrowed my eyes, not unkindly, reminding myself to tread softly and not get ahead of myself. I needed this conversation to happen… the right way.

"…Can I ask, Sara?"

Her name on my lips made her turn to lock eyes with me, and I felt reduced by her gaze… intimidated and small. But it flickered away after a moment, unable to maintain the intensity, and she sighed. "She killed my father, when I was nine, because I told her that he wasn't just beating my brother when he went into his room at night."

Her words washed over me and I struggled with them, trying to decipher her exact meaning—hoping against hope that I was wrong about what she was implying. But no, I wasn't. The expression she was trying and failing to hide from me told me as much, and I was horrified.

"Oh, Sara…"

She shook her head, and the tears slipped down her cheeks. "I… I didn't tell you to… make you feel sorry for me. I just… you told me about your mother, and…" She sniffled, and I slid a hand through hers.

"You were… nine… and you understood that?"

She drew in a shuddering breath. "Enough to know it was hurting him worse than the drunken beatings… I could see it. He… he lost the light in his eyes."

There was a quiet moment, and I squeeze her hand gently. "…You loved your brother a lot."

She nods, her teeth toying with her bottom lip. "More than anyone… he… he was never mean to me, until my dad started… then he was angry, and yelled a lot. It took me weeks to understand why he was hiding bloody sheets in his closet instead of having my mom wash them…"

Hesitantly, I tugged on her hand and she came easily, folded limbs lurching forward and unwrapping liquidly, until I had my arm around her, and her head rested against my chest. I held her close, and forced myself to remain restrained and not betray how much I was reveling in her proximity. After a few quiet minutes in which she cried softly, sniffling occasionally, I pulled back from her, my voice coming soft but authoritative.

"Come on, you're staying here tonight."

She did not argue, she simply pulled away from me and stood slowly while I led her to the spare bedroom which was sparsely furnished, but at least had a bed and warm blankets. Like a tired child, she slipped beneath the covers and curled up, completely trusting, even after her ordeal tonight and the life she had already lived. I hovered in the doorway, wanting to keep a level of distance still.

It was harder to be calculating when I cared about her so much… when she made me want to let my guard down… but I could never do that, around her.

"The bathroom is just next door… don't… hesitate to wake me… to ask for anything. Okay?"

She nodded, her eyes already closed, her face peaceful. I smiled, softly, and pulled the door closed behind her and then relocked the front door and put our used mugs in the dishwasher. I moved to her bedroom door again, listening, and feeling relieved when I heard soft, deep breathing. She was already asleep.

I moved to the bathroom, where she had left her wet clothing strung over the edge of the tub to dry, the rest still in a pile on the floor. I hadn't looked, before, but now it was very clear she'd been wearing white lace underneath her clothing, and my mind immediately conjured up the image I'd had of her in my dream, just before she called. She'd been in black lace, but how foolish of me… white would be lovely against her skin, and spoke more clearly of innocence.

I doubted I would ever imagine our first encounter again without her in white.

I gathered up the clothing, and carefully read washing instructions to be certain I wouldn't ruin anything, before tipping it all into my washing machine and washing it on cold, just in case. Only then, my stomach full of butterflies, could I return to my bed, restless and aching.

How could I sleep, knowing how close she was? How vulnerable and frightened and trusting?


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: Okay, I said no more fluff and I lied. But this is the last chapter! ...for a while. :)

Thanks for the reviews! Let me know what you think!

* * *

Chapter Six:

I hardly slept, and certainly not well. I rose at six, showered and dressed, and was finishing an impressive stack of waffles when she stumbled out, looking adorably sleepy in my rumpled pajamas, her curls a frantic halo around her flushed face, the most beautiful sight I had ever had the pleasure of taking in. If she were older—if I had any right to pursue her—I would do everything in my power to keep her waking up to me, each and every morning, pleasantly disheveled and all the more lovely for it.

"Morning!" I called brightly, and she smiled sleepily at me, a yawn parting those perfect lips.

"Good morning. …You didn't have to go to all this trouble for me."

I grin. "No trouble. I'm a big fan of breakfasts… it seems like the most social meal to me. Must be from working on graveyard for so long…"

She smiles and stretches—a luxurious thing that sets my heart hammering and steals the breath from my lungs, so that I am left gasping in her its wake. "I don't think I've slept so well in… gosh, years."

I tilted my head. "Not before the roommate?"

She smiled ruefully. "You never sleep well in a foster home… or, at least, not when they feel like strangers."

I nodded, slowly, adding this bit of information into my ever-growing Sara-knowledge-base. "You should talk to housing about switching your roommate… or moving off-campus."

She nodded, slowly. "Yeah, I'll talk to them…"

I smirked, wondering if she would actually talk to them, and whether there was anything I could do about it if she didn't. I slid a plate of two waffles and three strips of bacon across the breakfast bar to her, followed by a butter dish and syrup bottle, before loading my own plate up. She smiled, and thanked me again, and we ate in relative quiet, but it was a comfortable quiet.

I pulled the clothing she'd worn out of my dryer when she'd finished eating, and she left me to take a shower and change while I cleaned up the kitchen, and then I drove her back to her dorm and waited while she called her R.A. to let her in, since she'd left without her keys.

Driving home, I mulled over whether it was a good idea to see her again, over the break… I didn't want to initiate our interactions too often, because I wanted to keep her coming to me… but at the same time, I didn't want her to have control over those interactions either. It was a conundrum—and I was not very good at this type of thing when I was being upfront and honest about my motivations… it was even harder when I was trying to play my interest off as concerned teacher and sometimes-friend.

But I wanted to see her, at least once… and I wanted to give her a Christmas present, but that required a good deal of thought as well. What did a concerned teacher and sometimes friend give his seventeen year old prodigy whom he was trying to seduce as subtly and non-physically as possible? The only answer was rather more obvious than I would have expected—it needed to be something academic, but personal. I took myself to the largest bookstore in town, and searched for something which fit that description.

Physics in Forensics was my first thought—she had said she was considering being a physics teacher, over majoring in forensics. It would show I remembered something small she had said to me, and that I was trying to sway her professionally, based on her interests… but it was still appropriate, academic, safe. …But I also remembered her telling me how much she missed having a warm ocean to visit daily…

And so I drifted into other sections, looking through large books with glossy covers, displaying photographs of deep-sea life and breathtaking beaches… I let my mind wander over those beaches, feeling the heat of the sun on my back and the bright glare in my eyes… the give of the sand beneath bare feet, seeping in between exposed toes, vividly aware of the red-painted pair beside my own.

I would take her to a beach, someday. A warm beach, where she could put aside everything but the present—the sensory experience of the beauty and warmth and immenseness of the world.

I chose the nicest of the books, considering only briefly before moving to the counter and purchasing both. I would simply have to make sure I removed the tags… not let her know how expensive they'd been, because that would give me away. Perhaps I would even pretend they were from my personal library…

It was lonely, sleeping in an empty apartment, after it had been filled with Sara. I found a long, dark hair lying innocently across the coffee table… I swore I could smell in every room she had been in… I caught myself looking to the side every time a movement on the television caught in my periphery while I wrapped her presents, thinking that maybe she was here, and had simply let herself in.

I would give her the gift after Christmas, I decided… that way, even though they were clearly expensive, I would not seem so eager. This was an easy solution, but of course it didn't work that way. I found myself stepping out of the shower on Christmas Eve—late afternoon, but I'd be lazy, feeling lethargic all day—to the sound of knocking on my door. I grumbled, but wrapped a towel around my waist and stomped to the door, on the off chance that it was _her_, because I wouldn't want her to leave.

…Besides, although certainly not an arrogant man, I had seen her looking me up and down on more than one occasion. And though I was not extremely muscled, per se—I did spend most of my days in a lab—I was not overweight. At the very least, a little exposure couldn't hurt my cause, right?

I peered through the spy hole—it was Sara. I shivered a little, in nervousness and anticipation and sheet delight.

I opened the door a crack, peeking around it cautiously, as if I didn't know it would be her.

"…Sara?"

She shivered a little—it was well below zero outside. "Hi. I, uh… I know I didn't call first, but… Can I come in?"

I pretended to look alarmed… uncertain, glancing over my shoulder. Her eyes narrowed, and I watched her rise on the balls of her feet, just slightly, as if to see if I had someone over. "I, uh… I just got out of the shower, Sara."

"Oh!" She blushed, averting her eyes immediately to her boots once more. "I'm sorry. I really should have called, but…"

I sighed, pulling the door open wider and remaining behind it. "It's fine, Sara. Come in. I'll just be a minute…"

She stepped in, hesitant, her eyes flickering to me and away again, her face burning. "I… I can just come back later, Grissom."

I shook my head. "It's fine. Most people don't shower in the afternoon. Really, sit down, make yourself at home. I, uh… I'm gonna go…"

I gestured to the hallways, awkwardly, and she blushed further, averting eyes that had been surreptitiously scanning my body. "Right. Yeah, I'll… I'll just be… waiting." I smirked, doing my best to make it look shy and embarrassed, and moved past her and back to my bedroom, thoroughly aware of her eyes on my back.

I returned only a minute or so later, in jeans and a tee shirt, barefoot, rubbing my curls with the towel, to keep my semi-exposure present in her mind. She blushed again, at the sight of me, averting her eyes, and then flickering them back to me, her eyes bright and shining.

I sat on the couch beside her, smiling pleasantly, and she drew a deep break, as if summoning courage—"I, uh… I don't know if this is weird, but, ah… I have a Christmas present, for you."

My eyebrows rose, and she rushed to speak to fill the silence that had hardly even begun yet. I would have to remember that about her. "I, uh… well, I know that it's not… typical… for students to give gifts to professors, but… well, I… I don't expect it to change my grades, or anything, I just—"

"Sara." I interrupted her, and she looked at me, eyes wide. "You don't have to explain. I got you something too."

Her eyes were wider, now. "You… you did?"

I chuckle, softly, and move to open a drawer in one of the end tables, pulling out the two awkwardly wrapped, rectangular packages. It took me off guard when tears welled up in her eyes and she blinked them away furiously. "What's… what's wrong?"

She wiped stubbornly at her eyes and turned from me. "Nothing. I'm sorry, Grissom."

I sat beside her again, turning her face back towards mine. Again, remaining silent was enough to prompt her to talk. "I just… I haven't gotten Christmas presents that weren't… from a charity, or… clothing that my foster parents had to provide me with anyway… since I was nine."

I wrapped an arm around her, instinctually, but I did not expect her to lean into me the way she did—needing, desperate. I took a deep breath, uncertain what to say to something like that. Fortunately, I didn't need to—she spoke again, for me. Always over-talking, but it was endearing. "I… I'm sorry. Here, this… this is for you."

It looked like a book as well—I tore the wrapping off, to find an old copy of Hamlet—leather-bound, and published in the early 1920's. I blinked at it, amazed, but again, she spoke before I had the opportunity. "You… you told me that you and your mother… this was your favorite story, to read together, but that your copy had been lost in a move. This… this is the same edition that you described to me…"

I shook my head, slowly. "Sara, I… I don't know what to say. This is… too much."

This time she shook her head. "No, it… it really isn't. You don't… you don't know how much you've done for me… how much I admire you as a teacher, and… value your friendship. It… it was the least I could do."

I wanted to kiss her. It took every bit of strength I possessed to sit still. I swallowed hard. "Open yours, Sara."

She cried—not just tears in her eyes, but actual, deep sobbing—when she opened my gifts, although they felt so feeble now, compared to what she had gifted me. We had both been planning to spend Christmas alone… so we spent it together instead.

I made grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup and we put in Die Hard in lieu of one of the clichéd Christmas movies on television, and I drove her home again, late that night, her books clutched to her chest like she was holding the arc of the covenant or the Holy Grail. She blushed and hugged me, before getting out of the car, leaving me dazed as I watched her run into the dorms.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

A/N: Ooookay, so this one is poorly proof-read (as in, hardly at all) because I wanted to get it up while I had time. Also, a new chapter for Destiny should be up tonight--I know I said it would be this morning, but I ran out of time. It's a crazy time of year.

Anyway, let me know what you think... about Grissom, about Sara, about the new characters... :)

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Chapter Seven:

I didn't see her again during the break, which was probably a good thing… a little distance to give perspective. She was very quickly crossing a line I hadn't wanted her to cross—she was feeling comfortable and confident around me. The problem was that if she was comfortable, we were equals—and to have her as an equal was not allowed. And if she was confident, she didn't need my approval. But we would be going back to school… a teacher-student relationship was easier to manipulate than a friendship.

And I was rather excited about the class as it was. We were going to go through, in the space of a semester, all the many-faceted jobs a CSI undertakes. We'd talk about crime scenes, and experiments, human nature and interrogations, court and testifying and protocol… I had already determined that the final would be a mock crime scene. I couldn't wait to see how Sara would do at it… I was tempted to make it more difficult than the level of the class necessarily demanded, simply because I wanted it to challenge her. I wanted to see what she was capable of.

It was another small class—about twenty-five people this time—although we were far too many to take up residence in the lounge again, which was disappointing. I felt like we had a much more active discussion because of that atmosphere. The first day in class, I set the boundaries clearly in place—I smiled at her briefly, but otherwise chose not to single her out at all. And she seemed to accept this with quiet understanding.

There were fewer introductory questions, this time—I limited it to name, where you're from, favorite dessert and favorite fictional character. We had too many students to do much more than that. Mine was simple—my mother's homemade apple pie, and Hamlet himself. Her answers were far more intriguing—anything fruity and chocolate, and Othello. Othello himself was a doting husband and lover, but possessive… jealous… controlling.

I found myself only half paying attention to my other students' answers, the great portion of my mind imagining all the possible ways fruit and chocolate could be used in seduction, never mind the act of love itself, as well as agonizing over why exactly Othello was her favorite. Did she like those traits, in a man? Did this mean that she would react positively to my manipulations…? Enjoy them, even?

I shook my head. Getting lost in fantasy wouldn't help me.

The first week we went over the basics to approaching a scene—proper procedure for documenting and retrieving evidence, for use of gloves and any other tools which may work in one situation but could destroy evidence if used improperly, for maintaining the chain of custody. And when I felt like there was some basic understanding, I drew out a scene for them on the board, and allowed them as a class to process it.

It was a body found in the trunk of a car, abandoned on the side of the road. I drew a brief landscape, and turned to the class. "Someone tell me what I do first."

They looked between each other, and a blonde boy answered. "Gloves?"

I grinned. "Maybe… can anyone else think of what should come before that?"

Sara spoke. "Secure the scene." God she was brilliant. This had been the answer I was looking for, but I didn't want to make it easy for her.

"Anything else?"

At their confused silence, I grinned. "Do you need a warrant to look in the trunk of an abandoned car? Probable cause—even the smell of a decomp—will only get you so far. Do you know if the officers at the scene have ascertained said warrant?"

"Okay…" said a red-headed girl. "So you see if you have a warrant to search the car."

"You do."

A short, awkward looking boy repeated Sara's and the first boy's suggestions. "Secure the scene, put on gloves."

"Done." I nod, waiting.

"Process the body," says a girl with bleached blonde hair and too much make-up. I raise an eyebrow, and Sara speaks.

"No, you don't know anything about it yet. If it's a decomp, you would want to transfer it back to the lab to process, and you'd want to seal up the car to do that. Besides, you can't touch a body until the coroner releases it. And, you need to sketch the scene."

I want to beam, but I don't. "Right. So what do we do?"

A boy with a nasal voice speaks. "Well, is it a decomp?"

I grin. "A particularly bad one, in fact. All liquid."

Sara again. "You draw a sketch, check the car for trace evidence that might be lost in transporting, photograph and document—especially overalls of the scene, and then you seal the car for transfer."

"No external trace. Photos taken. Do you transfer the car now?"

"Well what else would you do?" says a girl with very curly hair—curlier than Sara's, even, and bushy.

I smile pleasantly and shrug. "I don't know… what else would you do?"

Sara opens her mouth impatiently, but a tall, lanky boy with light brown hair speaks over her. "You don't transport until you've processed the rest of the scene. To do so, we need to know what's there. Tire treads, foot prints, and fluids leaking under the car, anything left behind anywhere…"

Sara looks at him in surprise—she's half-angry at being spoken over, but I can tell she's impressed. So far, he's the only one who has seemed like he knows this as much as she does. I try to remember the boy's name… Harry? Hank? Henry? Something with an 'H'.

"No foot prints, visible tire treads, mysterious fluid under the front end of the car, nothing left behind."

Sara spoke up. "Photograph and make a mold of the treads, take a sample and photographs of the fluid, clear the car for transport."

The boy looked over at her, but he didn't look even half-angry. He beamed at her. I clenched my teeth and cleared my throat, drawing her attention back to me, a flush washing over her cheeks.

I walked them through the rest of the scene, with Sara and Mr. H-something competing for my approval… kind of. They were competing, and Sara's goal was still my approval. His, I was certain, was her approval. This grated on my nerves. Who did he think he was, using my class as an opportunity to flirt? Sara, for her part, ignored him, other than angrily pursing her lips when he cut her off or spoke before she could, and that made me feel better.

It didn't appear that his attempt would be all that successful, at least.

Each week, we discussed something different in detail, laying out the possible uses for the technology and all the possible mediums through which it could exist, and then on Friday, we would do another scene on the board. With the exception of Sara, Hank, and an annoying Chem. major named Ken, most of the class could only get through the basics and the specifics of what we had learned that week, and the case was solved by one of the three. Still though, they got further every week.

We were three and a half weeks into class—the last few days of January—when Hank approached her. She hadn't risen from her seat, intending, I was certain, to follow me to my office and discuss the finer points of a toxicology screening, but Hank seemed to see her lingering as an opportunity. He glanced awkwardly at me, and then flashed her a winning smile, while I shut down the projector we'd been using.

"Sara… I, uh… Can I walk you to your next class? I wanted to… ask you something."

Ugh. The boy was terribly awkward—clearly almost as young as Sara herself. But then, a gentle soul like Sara was bound to find nervousness endearing. I watched them in my periphery, trying not to be too obvious. I busied myself gathering papers that were already gathered and sorted and paper clipped.

"Oh." Her eyes were wide, her voice clearly surprised. "I, uh… I don't have a class right now. Thanks… anyway… Hank."

"Oh. Oh, okay, right. Uh… well…" He was preparing himself to ask her, but apparently lost his nerve. "Well, that's… I'll just… catch up with you later. Next class, maybe. To, uh… to ask you."

Her eyebrows were half-way up her forehead, and she looked bewildered. "Oh…okay."

He shuffled his hands awkwardly, gave her a strange sort of nod, and hurried out. I drew a deep breath, lifting my head to her, still sitting stunned, staring at where the boy had disappeared. I didn't like that. I frowned and cleared my throat, and she snapped back to the present, shaking her head softly. "Sorry, Griss, I, uh… yeah. That was weird."

I chuckle softly, disguising my distaste, because I want her honest opinion of the interaction. "Oh? Why's that?"

She looked taken aback. "Because… because I hate him!"

I look surprise too, and turn to her as we move down the stairs in tandem. I hadn't expected this response. "I didn't even think you knew him outside of class."

"I… I don't! But he's… god, he makes me mad! His answers come right out of the textbooks and you know it, Grissom! He's a kiss-ass, always interrupting me and talking over me and acting like he actually understands the crime scene while he keeps his book open under his damned desk! He's a brown-noser, and I can't believe you haven't realized how much he sucks up to you!"

I laugh then, out loud, and she frowns. "Oh, this is funny to you?"

I smirk, opening my office door and sliding in behind her, letting it fall closed. "Yes, it is."

She levels her best glare at me, though it lacks true intensity. "And why is it funny that he makes me so angry?"

I chuckle again. "It isn't. …What's funny is that you honestly believe he's working that hard to gain _my_ attention."

Her brow furrowed in confusion and concentration and then she understood. Wide eyes again. "Oh. …_Oh_." She glanced behind her at the closed door, as if to make sure he hadn't followed us down here. "And here I didn't understand what he was getting at. I assumed that I bothered him as much as he bothers me."

I laugh, feeling reassured, but then she tilts her head, her expression implying that she's reconsidering the event. "Huh. …So… was he… trying to ask me out?" I take in her eyes—the firm shape of her mouth. She's serious. It's a serious question. She honestly doesn't know.

The smile I give in pained—a half smile at best. "I believe he was, Miss Sidle. Did that throw you off…?"

She grinned and blushed at my teasing, unaware of my discomfort… my loathing for the younger man. "It did. I, uh… I don't have much experience with… dating."

I grin and softly reassure her, turning the conversation to insects and toxicology and processing a scene… but I don't lose the smile. She was most definitely a virgin.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: Thanks for the reviews! Hopefully I can get another chapter up tonight! :)

* * *

Chapter Eight:

I started pushing limits. I felt like it was the right time—she trusted me, respected me, and was clearly attracted to me. She came into my office in the first week of February on a Saturday… she hadn't stayed after all week, and so I knew I would see her over the weekend… and I had moved my terrarium over to my desk, keeping it open. It was quiet, and so I heard every time the big doors opened, just up the stairs and around the corner from my office. The light would flicker beneath my door and I would listen.

I knew the particular jingle of Sara's keys—I never looked up when another set rang outside my door—and the sound of her boots on the stairs, and the rustle of her backpack as she shifted its weight. And when she entered, I pulled my orange-kneed tarantula into my hands, gently, listening and waiting. A gentle tap came, as expected, on the door, and then she opened it of her own accord, not needing my invitation in.

"Hey Griss." She closed the door behind her, and then turned back to me, stopping dead in her tracks half-way to her chair. "You… you, uh… have Stevie out?"

I chuckled, softly. "Don't tell me you're afraid of a little spider, Sara…"

She gave me a nervous, watery sort of smile. "I don't know if you'd noticed, but that isn't a _little_ spider…"

I grinned. "Come here." She bit her bottom lip and moved around my desk to stand beside where I was seated. "Now hold your hands out…"

She obeyed, her hands trembling, but when I lifted mine closer she squeezed her eyes shut tight and turned her face away. I chuckled again.

"Do you need some help?" She turned back to me, her eyes opening slowly.

"You know, I, uh… I'd really be good… not holding… Stevie."

My tender-hearted Sara, using the given name of any creature, large or small, even if she was frightened… and she was so very beautiful, frightened. I stood slowly, keeping my hands steady, gently shifting Stevie to my right hand. She watched him warily, jumping in surprise when she realized that I was now an inch away from her, because her eyes had been glued to the arachnid. She looked up at me, and I laughed carelessly again, as if her proximity wasn't doing unbelievable things to me.

"I'll help, really. It's actually really nice, holding him…"

I move around behind her, not quite pressing my chest to her back, but remaining close enough for the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up in response, my arms on either side. My left hand caught hers, pulling it up to chest height, and I spoke softly in her ear.

"Here, hold your hand flat but relaxed… just steady." I moved my right hand over and tilted it, Stevie inching closer to her trembling fingertips. I could hear her heart racing—see her pulse under her jaw line, racing. "Just relax, Sara… I wouldn't let you hold him if it was risky…"

She nods, taking a deep breath, just as the spider moved onto her palm. She let out a shaky laugh, almost disbelieving. "He's… so soft. It's almost… tickly."

I nod. "Tarantulas step so lightly that they leave no tracks when they move…" I leaned just slightly closer to her, seemingly to see the spider better over her shoulder, and felt her shoulders tense and her breathing hitch momentarily. She swallowed, turning and putting our faces into direct proximity, and I gave her an easy smile, as if there were no tension in the moment… no other interaction going on between us but the passing of a spider.

I grinned and stepped back, leaving him resting on her single palm. "See? That's not so bad… I think he likes you."

She gave a strangled sort of laugh. "Please… take him back. I… the novelty is wearing off."

She turned and I put my hand to hers again, letting him crawl back and putting him away with a glance at her face—flushed, again. It seemed like she was always blushing over something, but I wasn't complaining… it was a lovely color on her. I turned back to her. "There's a CSI I worked with in Hennepin country giving a guest lecture on campus, this coming weekend. He was a physicist too. You might enjoy it…"

She looked up, and blushed again. …It was lovely, yes, but confusing, in this moment. What had I said to cause her to blush…? "Oh, on, um… Saturday?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Yes, in the student union. You don't have to go to it, I'm not entirely certain that I'll attend, but I figured it was… up your alley."

She nodded, and looked at her feet again. "Yeah, it… it is. It would be."

"…But?"

"I, uh… I have a date, actually."

I exhibited more control than was humanely possible, I'm certain of it—my face remained expressionless, even as my heart plunged into my stomach—and my voice was pleasant and relaxed. I was even able to relish that she looked afraid to tell me this. "Oh. Well that should be fun. You should spend more time with people your own age." I waved a hand dismissively, as if telling her that I really didn't think she should necessarily be spending so much time with me. I intentionally made her feel too young. I watched the hurt flicker in her eyes, and then she was rushing to explain herself… to revoke the words which had apparently threatened her place in my life.

"I couldn't get housing to switch me to another room with my roommate saying it was okay, and she has this sick, twisted idea that we're going to be friends… that you have to be lifelong friends with your college roommate. It isn't even about the money—her parents offered to pay for a double room for her to have alone at the beginning of the year, so it's not like my moving would screw her over but…" She sighs, her eyes crinkling in frustration.

"And I already signed a year-long contract in the dorm… I don't have enough excess aid to pay for an apartment when a good portion of it is going to paying for a dorm, and I don't have a car so I can't get a job off-campus. All the on-campus places close around nine, and I have classes through the evenings off and on all week…"

A restless hand slides through her hair and she's trembling. "She's been bothering me to bond with her—because, like I said, she thinks we're going to be the _best-of-friends_… and I finally got her to agree to sign my damn form that she'll pay for a double room by herself so I can move, if I would go on a double date with her…"

I give her a half-smile. "Well, you might surprise yourself and have fun… who's the guy?"

"_Ken_. From class, you know? Ugh. He's so… full of himself. But she wants his friend and apparently he asked about me. God, that's so creepy… talking about me. I don't even know him. …What do you wear to a double date with the roommate you hate who is also blackmailing you to get you to go, with the guy you listen to fucking said-hated roommate while they're both drunk and think you're asleep, and the arrogant asshole from class who thinks he's the best thing to happen for women since suffrage?!"

She lets herself fall limply into one of the chairs in front of my desk, her eyes large and watery, but tears contained, for once. I draw in a deep breath, uncertain how to respond. She whimpers, softly. "And now I have to miss a guest speaker, too…"

I tilt my head and move around, to sit in the chair beside her. She looks startled. "When's your date, Sara?"

"Saturday." She says, miserably. I chuckle.

"No, I knew… what I mean is, what time? Is it a dinner date? A lunch date?"

"Oh… I… I guess I don't know."

I take her hand, gently. "Tell your roommate that it has to be a lunch date—you're trying to convince me to let you do an intern ship with me, this summer, and I implied that if you didn't go see the speaker, then you weren't very serious about the subject matter. Your scholarship depends on the internship."

She nods, but she looks confused. "How… how will that help me? I mean, I can go to the guest speaker still, but… god, I don't know…"

I hesitate, just enough. "Sara… have you… You told me that you hadn't… dated much. Have you… ever gone out… with a man? I mean, not like a school dance, but a real date…?"

She flushes for the hundredth time since she's entered my office and averts her eyes. I don't need her to answer more than that. I squeeze her hand softly.

"A lunch date… it, uh… well, it gives you an out, first of all. There are… fewer expectations. You have a set time that the date has to be over, and he knows from the beginning that you won't be inviting him in at the end. You're less likely to go somewhere where you can't wear jeans… and a cocktail dress definitely says… well, it says sex, whereas jeans say… girl next door."

She still isn't looking at me, and I squeeze again—this time she returns it. "Don't be… embarrassed, Sara. I… I hadn't dated at all when I was seventeen either. …I just… I want you out of the situation you're in, with the least amount of trouble possible…"

She nodded, slowly, and looked up at me, tears and absolute trust shimmering in her chocolate depths. "I… will you be… at the lecture? I… I think that's the only way I'll get through it… if I know that I won't be alone, after."

I nod, slowly. "Of course, Sara. I'll be there."


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: :) I really like this chapter. Let me know what you think. Also, I had no time to proof read, 'cause I'm about to be late for work.

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Nine:

I decided I needed to monopolize more of her time—I didn't like this… dating business. One date to get her away from the roommate was fine… tolerable, at least. But that was more than enough for me to tolerate. I determined that we should be together… often. So that dating another man would mean choosing between spending time with him and spending time with me.

And I would need to start treating it more as a seduction. Slowly touching her more often, and more intimately, was not enough. I wanted her breathless with desire every time she left me, and yet unable to act upon it… I wanted her to strive for my attention, long for it, when it was denied. The best way to achieve that, was to get her used to having it all the time… so that she might feel the loss more acutely. I wanted to put my own thoughts into her head… I wanted to know that she was having dreams like I was having.

She slid into a seat beside me just as my former colleague was giving introductions, and I grinned at her. "How'd it go?"

She rolled her eyes in frustration, leaning close to me so that I could hear her lowered voice. "Terribly. If that's what dating is all about… I think I'll just stay single."

I shook my head, softly, smiling, and we both turned to the speaker at the same time. Sitting beside her was an assault on my senses, but I determined that if I was suffering, then she ought to be as well. I shifted in my chair, so that my knee brushed momentarily against the outer side of her thigh, but I pretended not to notice the contact. She looked at me from the side of her eyes, and then away, pink again.

The rest of the lecture was spent this way—subtle hand brushes, leaning in to speak against her ear to comment on part of the lecture… and when it was over, her eyes were over-bright, her hands a little more active than normal—agitated. We rose and moved out with the crowd—I had no desire to speak to my former colleague—my hand on the small of her back, my thumb tracing small circles absently; as if I was unaware I was doing it.

She shivered, moving closer to me without thinking, and then blushing a moment later, worried that I had noticed. …I pretended not to.

"Have you eaten, Sara?"

She swallowed hard. "Oh, hours ago… when I insisted on a lunch date, they decided that 'lunch' should be at eleven thirty. I spent the rest of the day squished onto a futon in Ken's apartment watching a chick flick that Bridget picked but didn't watch, because her boyfriend's hand was down her pants, just feet from me, under a blanket. As if we couldn't hear exactly what was going on…" She shuddered visibly. "Disgusting."

I chuckled. "Why don't we grab something… keep you away from your roommate for as long as possible…?"

She smiled, softly. "Sure. That'd be nice."

I laugh. "Of course. Pizza? Chinese? Italian?"

"Mmm, Chinese. Give me some fried rice and steamed vegetables and I'll do anything for you."

Good lord. A single phrase from the lips of a teenager should not be able to cause an instant hard on in a man in his thirties. I should have more restraint… more control. I laughed, awkwardly, gesturing toward my car while I desperately thought of anything I could to distract myself—decomps, Sara's roommate, Sara on a date, Sara on a date with me, Sara coming home with me—No. No. No. Decomp. Maggots. Serial Killers. McKaela and Hunter and Jeremiah.

That did it. Hard on gone, indescribable pain back.

We slid into my car and I focused on breathing, trying to clear my mind's eye of that scene. She sighed deeply as soon as we were driving, and I glanced over at her. "Relieved?"

She looked at me out of the side of her eyes. "Extremely. I told them I had to be at the speaker, and Ken started talking about maybe he would go too. I was worried I'd run into him."

I smile at her relief. "So why was the date so horrible? Other than the… movie… distractions." I snickered, and she blushed.

"Well, for starters we went to a seafood restaurant because they were having some special—unlimited crab legs for like three bucks a person… but I'm allergic to shellfish. So I ordered fish—which tasted good, until I realized I was breaking out in hives. They must have cross-contaminated… at seafood restaurants, they offer don't worry about the proximity of fish and other seafood.

"…So I was hungry and itchy and attempting to endure Bridget and Clark's not-so-subtle attempts at double entendre while Ken talked about all the awards he'd won in the Chemistry department and all the game-winning points he's scored in hockey. Seriously, I'm from California. Why would I give a shit about hockey?"

She broods for a moment, and I glance over at her. "Do you want to stop for some Benadryl?"

She laughs then, a weak, desperate sort of sound. "No. Bridget had some in her purse, and it wasn't that bad… I stopped eating once I realized." She pauses briefly, catching her breath. "And so we order two desserts, to share as couples, right, which is like, gag me, but… I've hardly eaten. I run to the bathroom to check on the state of my hives when we order, but apparently I should have hurried. I didn't realize that half of our dessert would be gone by the time I came back, and that I would have to split what was remaining with a man who takes ice-cream-scoop-sized bites and sees no problem with his saliva-ridden spoon touching my side of the dessert. Ugh!"

I can't wipe the grin off my face, nor stop laughing. She scowls over at me. "It isn't _that_ funny!"

"Yes…" laughter, "it is. Your…" laughter, "face was…" more and more, "priceless. And…" tears streaming down my face, "the hives and the…" my stomach hurt, I was laughing so hard. "You have the…" I drew in a shuddering breath, trying to calm myself, "the worst luck, Sara…" chuckles, "…the worst."

She laughed at me laughing so hard, and after that she didn't seem so put out by the day she'd had… she was relaxed, and happy.

I pulled into the parking lot of a nicer Chinese restaurant, and she glanced up. "Griss… I was thinking just a cheap buffet. Really, we don't…"

"I worked a case a couple years back—a man had gone into anaphylactic shock at a Chinese restaurant, because of shellfish cross-contamination. When I looked into it, I found out that it's a rather common problem in Chinese restaurants… so we're not going to any cheap buffet. We're going somewhere that has a reputation to worry about, and therefore, a reason to worry about how safely food is prepared. You've had a bad enough day as it is…"

She smiled at me—surprised and shy—and we moved into the restaurant. Once seated and having placed drink orders, she looked up at me, opened her mouth, closed it, and looked away, blushing. …Did she really think I would let her get away with something like that?

"What?"

She looked up, eyes wide again. "Hmm?"

"You were going to say something… what was it?"

"Oh." She looked down. "It, uh… it was nothing."

"Sara." She looked up again and then back down, sighing.

"It, uh… I just…" She pursed her lips and swallowed hard. "I told you that… I don't have a lot of experience… dating." I nod, and she exhales loudly. "I, uh… when did you… start dating? I mean, you said that you didn't, when you were seventeen…"

I smile, softly, and the waiter comes by—we order quickly, and her eyes fall to the table again. She letting me have the out, if I want it. "I s'pose I was… in college. Eighteen."

"How… how did you… know what to do?"

I tilted my head. "What do you mean…?"

"Well, I mean… you know, Ken wasn't anyone I was really interested in, but… someday, I'll probably… meet someone. And… I'll be so awkward and nervous that he won't even want me."

She blushed again, and her eyes couldn't seem to stay fixed on my face—they flickered to and away, several times. I puckered my lips in thought. "Well, I mean… most people learn from experience… they have a few awkward dates. …Any man who deserves you, Sara, isn't going to decide he doesn't want you because you're nervous or inexperienced." She didn't look convinced. "Sara, really… a date is just spending time with someone, with the knowledge that you're both attracted to one another. That's it."

She bit her lip and ran her slim fingertip around and around the top of her water glass. I let this go on for a moment, but when she remained silent, I cleared my throat. "I'll show you."

Her head snapped up in surprise, and I worked to keep my face impassive. "What?"

I allow myself a smile. "It'll be like… the crime scenes we talk through, in class. You go through it mentally, so that when you're in the real thing, you know what to expect."

Her face was uncertain, but I knew she wouldn't tell me know—she had leaned closer, and her eyes were bright again. "…Okay…"

I chuckle, thinking. "Alright, I am… hmm, eighteen, in your forensics class, and I borrowed notes from you once, after I missed a day, because Dr. Grissom is such a hard ass that he wouldn't give me copies of the overhead slides even if I begged him." She grins and rolls her eyes, but I can tell she's playing along. "So, uh… Sara…" I did my best to look nervous, twisting my hands and focusing my eyes on her nose. "I, uh… well, I was wondering if, maybe you'd… want to… get dinner with me… this… Friday night?"

She giggled, but forced a straight face and cleared her throat. "Sure. I… I would love to."

I beam. "Oh. Great! I, uh… I'll pick you up at seven? Dress nice." She nodded, giggling again, her delicate hand coming to cover her mouth to stifle them. I rolled my eyes. "You're going to hurt my feelings… laughing at me while I ask you out."

"I just… I have the hardest time imagining you so young and… nervous." She giggles again.

"Okay, so—what do you wear?" Hmm. That was a strange statement. I suddenly felt like we were having phone sex, sans the phone… and the sex. So far.

She tilted her head. "You said dress nice. …What does that mean? How nice?"

I shrug. "I don't know. Are you going to call me to ask? Do you even have my number?"

She bites her lip. "Shit. Okay, well… you said dinner. So probably… fancy restaurant 'nice.' You're eighteen, so it's doubtful that you're taking me anywhere… black tie. Right?"

I shrug, and she groans. "Okay, I guess… I would probably wear… a dress?"

"Describe it to me."

"…Okay. Um, black… spaghetti strap, fitted until my hips and then flares out… falls about… three or four inches above my knee."

"I'm certain you would look beautiful—and that my raging, eighteen-year-old hormones would agree. I would have my hands all over you, all night—even if I was gentleman enough to keep my hands from trying to slide up your thigh—I would always be finding an excuse to touch you." Her eyes are glued to mine, her shoulders tensed, and I know she's imagining it. I can practically see it happening behind her hesitant smile. "…Which is fine, if that's what you want for a first date…"

She seems to come back to the moment, and looks at the table quickly. "Okay. Um… no. I would go with… black dress pants and… shit. Okay, um… I have this… white button-down, that's really silky but… it's kind of shear. I guess I'd wear a tank top underneath, and unbutton half the buttons, to add some color..."

"How low cut in the tank top?"

She bites her lip again. "Minimal amount of cleavage… like… here." She says, snatching the collar of the shirt she's wearing down, to reveal just the beginning curve of her breasts. It is minimal, but my heart starts racing anyway. I look away.

"That… that's probably fine, for a date. Flirty but conservative… I wouldn't feel like it would be okay to touch you nearly as much… So, uh… I pick you up. If I'm really worried about the date going well, I don't come empty-handed. Flowers or chocolate or something…"

She bats her eyelashes flirtatiously—jokingly—at me from across the table. "Are you worried about it going well?"

I chuckle. "Terrified, actually. So, I suppose I would bring you… half a dozen roses. Pink. And I would be certain to tell you how beautiful you looked. "

"So I would… put them in water, I imagine?" I nod. She taps her fingers on the table, her eyes looking very like they do when she's working through a crime scene in her head in class. "And I would thank you, of course…"

I grin. "Of course… I would lead you out to my car, and tell you that I have this nice seafood place in mind, just off the water… I hope you like lobster."

She glares at me. "Yeah, yeah… okay, so I would… apologize and say that I'm allergic to shellfish, and that maybe we could go somewhere else…?"

"Oh! Of course! I'm so sorry, I… I had no idea!" She laughs, but slips into 'character' as well.

"No, no, don't be sorry. You didn't know."

"How about… well, what are you in the mood for? There's… there's a nice Italian place close by, if… if that sounds good."

She beamed at me. "That sounds amazing. I, uh… I'm sorry about… the inconvenience."

I reach out and take her hand, running my thumb gently over the top. "No trouble at all. I want you to enjoy yourself…" Her eyes are wide, and she draws in a shaky breath, her fingers tightening almost imperceptibly under mine. I feel a rush of satisfaction—of power—and this guides my restraint. It felt good to see her want me, and to be able to provoke it when I wanted it.

I don't release her hand, but I move the date along. "I would lead you inside the restaurant, and with any luck we wouldn't have to wait too long to be seated. I would hold your hand and, if you seemed like it didn't bother you, I might put my hand to the small of your back… just for more contact."

She shivered, and blushed, glancing at me, worried I'd seen. I pretended not to, taking a slow drink from my water. "We'd be seated, and… I would keep your hand across the table, if you'd let me." I run my thumb a little more decisively over the hand that I do hold across the table. "I'd ask you if you'd been here before… tell you what I'd had in the past and if it was good… and I'd definitely order us wine, if we were old enough."

She smirked, her eyes playful, her voice slightly deeper than normal—a smoky, seductive sound. "Trying to get me drunk?"

I grin, adopting her deep, teasing tone. "Whatever it takes." She blushes bright, and I let my smirk turn serious. "Although… that is something to be concerned about. You want to know your limit and not pass it… some men wouldn't have any qualms with taking a drunken date home…"

She smiled, softly, at my concern. "What would you do next… small talk?"

I nod. "Mostly… I would make it about you, but I'd also make sure I connected with everything you said. So, for example… I'd start by talking about what we have in common—our forensics class. A tough test coming up or… maybe about the mock crime scenes, and how it was especially difficult today."

"I suppose it would be bad manners if I rolled my eyes and said that they're never all that hard—it's just a matter of putting together the pieces—and that Dr. Grissom would make them so much more challenging if the rest of the class could keep up?"

I laugh. "Yes, Sara, that might hurt my feelings. I find Dr. Grissom's mock crime scenes very challenging."

She laughs too—a wonderful sound. "Okay, um… then I guess I would nod… maybe bring up something interesting we'd done in class that day, like finding the fingerprint under the battery in the disposable cell phone…"

"I would compliment you on how well you do on the scenes… maybe ask what you're majoring in, or about your other classes… and if it seemed like things were going well, I would… I dunno, maybe slide my foot against yours… maybe move my hand up to your wrist…" I did both, leaving my foot still but playing my fingertips gently over her wrist, watching the goose bumps break out across her arms.

She was breathless again, inhaling with too much concentration. "What… what would… you think of me, if I let you do those things… or participated in them?" Then I felt her foot slowly sliding up my pant leg, from my ankle to about mid-calf and back down. I tensed. "Would it be too much, like the dress?"

It took all my strength not to clear my throat and give myself away. I laughed again. "Well, I guess that depends how you want the night to end…"


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

A/N: Hope you enjoy. It's a good one. :) Also, very little proof reading again, because I'm sleepy.

Review please!

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Chapter Ten:

She blushed—of course she blushed—and her foot slid away. "It's a first date… I don't want anything to happen, at the end of the night."

I smirked. "Apparently you're quite the tease, Miss Sidle."

She raised her eyebrows, looking half-concerned and half-intrigued. "…Am I?"

I considered her—she's not just asking a nonsense question. There's a lot behind it… she's asking if her actions, thus far, have truly been misleading and provocative… and also, I think, there's a part of her that is asking if I, personally, am teased by her. I shake my head, slowly and softly.

"No. Idle flirting doesn't make you a tease." There. That was a safe answer.

She nods, looking a little disappointed with my answer. Our food arrives and there's a brief pause as we both lift unfold napkins and lift utensils to eat. She lifts a fork—I take chop sticks. After a moment, I smirk at her. "Don't you know how to use these?" I click mine together, to make clear what 'these' referred to.

She smiles sheepishly. "No, I… I never could figure them out."

"I think, as your date, it's my responsibility to teach you."

She grinned teasingly. "As my date, you should be eating spaghetti, not sesame chicken."

I tilt my head, conceding her point. "I'm teaching you the proper way to twirl spaghetti with a fork and spoon, so that you don't stain your white top."

She giggled, and I reached across the table to pick up her chop sticks and handed them to her. "Okay, hold the first one… kind of the way you'd hold a pen, but without your pointer finger… hook your thumb around, kind of, to hold it in place… this one won't move at all." I showed her with my fingers, and then reached over and corrected her grip. Even though I'd held her hand for most of the night, I still felt electricity pass between us at the contact, and a flush spread over her cheeks again.

I picked up her other chop stick and slid it into place. "This is the one that moves, to pick things up… you move it with your thumb and forefinger, like this…" I show her, and then pick up my own, demonstrating by picking up a piece of my chicken with the sticks and lifting it to her mouth, a silent offering.

She blushes again, but she doesn't question me, not even with her eyes. She trusts me, and does as I indicate—she wraps those perfect lips around my offering. Good lord, I wanted those lips in all kinds of places…

She used her chop sticks after that, albeit a little clumsily, and when I finished, I moved my plate to the edge of the table and took the dessert menu from behind the soy sauce and coffee condiments. "Fruit and chocolate, hmm? …They have a raspberry torte here that looks good…"

She glanced up at me. "We, uh… I don't need… dessert."

I smile. "Ah, but _I_ am in desperate need of half a dessert, and unfortunately, they don't sell halves here. You'll just have to help me." She rolled her eyes and I chuckled. "Besides, you should witness a demonstration that two people can share dessert without swapping saliva." I gave her a teasing look, and she glared playfully, finishing her plate and sliding it over to the edge of the table as well.

"You're mean, you know? Didn't you ever have a bad date?"

I chuckle, softly. "None that could compare with yours…"

The waiter approaches, lifting the plates and inquiring about dessert and then sweeping away while Sara glanced at me, slowly. "…So, what should I expect at this point in a date?"

I chuckle, seeing that she wants our subtle flirtation to continue… I wonder if it turns her on the way it does me, and I resolve to look more closely for cues to this. "I suppose… We're nearing the end… I would be contemplating dropping you off at home… Has the date gone well enough for me to assume I can kiss you? Are you more of a wait-for-the-third-date kind of girl? Would a kiss on the cheek be more appropriate? Is there a chance in hell that you'll invite me in? Do I still have a condom in my wallet?"

Her eyes are wide, and her jaw drops, her mouth forming not quite an 'O,' the slight gap in her teeth only just visible beneath her top lip. "I… on a first date?!"

I laugh out loud. "…Sara, you clearly have too much faith in the myth of the modern gentleman. There are men who will not expect it, or who will not be prepared… there are even some who would tell you no, even if you wanted it… but there are not men who don't desire it, first date or no. The vast majority would not hesitate, not even a little, if you indicated that you were willing."

She blushed, and looked at the table again. She jumped when the dessert slid onto the table in front of us—she had not seen the waiter approach. She met my eyes then and I tilted my head. "…Are… are you okay, Sara?"

"Yeah…" she picked up one of the spoons on the plate, scooping a raspberry from the top of the dessert and taking it into her mouth with a strange gentleness that made me hard again, without really understanding why. "I guess… I just don't know how I'm supposed to… date… when every guy's got only one thing on his mind, and I'm completely unable to even comprehend such a thing. …If I read trashy romance novels, and I still can't even imagine myself… intimate… with someone… How is that going to work?"

I get the feeling that she's talking more to herself, and that she's simply so comfortable with me and so caught up in her emotions that she hasn't really realized… but I respond anyway, acting as if this is a perfectly normal conversation for a teacher and student to partake in. "Well, you're… seventeen, Sara. If you date people who are roughly your age… there's every possibility that you'll find someone who is also a virgin. …You can… work up to it, together."

I hated these words, but I wanted to reassure her. I wanted her to stop worrying so much about how other men would react to her—not that they would dislike her virginity… good lord, exactly the opposite… but that she wouldn't be comfortable enough with intimacy to ever allow herself to get to that point. It didn't matter—even if I would never take her, I would make certain that no one else did, either. Maybe that was cruel, but I could not endure the knowledge that another man was living out my fantasies. I just couldn't.

And so I added, as if it were an afterthought, "Though I doubt you'd want that anyway."

She lifted her head, curiously, to me. "…Why not?"

"…Well…" I shrug, softly, picking up my spoon for the first time and scooping a bite, "Your first time… it's going to hurt. But it's going to be a lot more… tolerable… if you're with someone experienced. Someone who can exercise some control… someone who can wait until you're ready, so that you can enjoy it too, rather than… well, being so overwhelmed that they can't help but lose it right away." I slid the bite into my mouth, murmuring a soft moan of appreciation for the dessert under my breath.

She definitely noticed, and I paid specific attention to that response—dilated pupils, eyes shining, and perhaps just a shade darker, with heavy lids… a flush in her cheeks that was higher than her normal blush, centered over her cheek bones… open mouth, again, body leaning forward unconsciously, hands clenching her spoon and the edge of the table, respectively.

Couldn't imagine herself intimate with anyone, my ass. She was imagining _me_, right now. It sent a hot pang of desire straight through me, centering in my lap and heating further.

She swallowed hard, taking a bite of the torte, simply to give herself something to do with her hands… a reason not to speak. She cleared her throat as she swallowed the bite. "I, uh… so… someone… experienced? …Older?"

I smile easily, as if I don't understand the undercurrent of her questions. I nod. "It would make the entire experience… far more pleasant. I mean, of course your first time should be very romantic and personal… but, in the purely physical sense… an experienced man will know exactly how to touch you… how to gauge your responses… how to make you feel the least amount of pain and the greatest amount of pleasure… how to bring you to orgasm. …Which is difficult. The first is always the hardest."

I took another bite while she tremblingly gathered her wits and took a deep breath. "It… it is?"

I nod, chewing slowly. "It is. …Don't your books tell you that much?"

She laughed, but it was too light… too breathy. She looked like she was struggling to control her breathing. "No. My… my books probably aren't very realistic…"

I take the final bite of my half—hers is mostly untouched. "Oh? …Why's that…?"

She blushes and looks down. "It's just… the way they describe... first times. …I guess I should have figured that three to four orgasms weren't possible for the initial experience—I mean, I knew it would hurt…" She glances up at me, and in her eyes, along with the desire, I see a question.

I smile. "Well, I don't know that it's impossible… like I said, you just need a man who knows what he's doing."

She trembled and looked up at me, and then grasped her spoon again, attacking her half of the dessert roughly, as if that could block out the images I had placed in her head. I knew that she would be thinking about me tonight… I wondered if she would touch herself, of if she was too innocent to do so… I couldn't decide—was she the woman who read smut or the girl who blushed too often?

The check was dropped off, and I took it, grateful to have an excuse for the silence that had fallen over us. I didn't want to break it—I wanted her to keep replaying my words in my mind—but I was also aware that it implied discomfort on my part. I did not want to communicate anything but unwavering confidence, just now.

I paid, and smiled, asking if she was ready to leave. She forced a smile and stood, sliding into her coat and allowing me to guide her out again, my hand on the small of her back. The cold air seemed to clear her head, somewhat, and when we sat in my car, she was more herself.

"I'm sorry, Griss. I… I didn't mean for you to pay. I wanted to take care of my half."

I shake my head. "Don't be ridiculous. You're a college student living on excess aid… I think I can find it within my budget to pay for dinner."

She smiled, softly. "Thank you."

I nodded, glancing at her. "Another thing—don't waste your time on a man who doesn't pay for you." She opens her mouth to protest, but I cut her off. "I know what you're going to say—the raging feminist inside you is indignant, I'm certain—but look at this in the context of the society in which we live. It isn't about your equal ability or your equal role in a relationship—don't let him buy you excessive presents, if that's what you're worried about—what it really comes down to is how much he values you.

"In our culture, although it's slowly changing, it is expected that a man pays for a meal. For said man to disregard what is expected—people are creatures of expectation, remember… it is when they feel strongly about something that they break from those social norms—he cannot possibly respect you the way he ought to. It isn't about equality, it's about how he views you and how you tell him to view you, by your own expectations…"

She nods, slowly, leaning her head back against the seat. She looks exhausted. After a moment, she chuckles, under her breath. "…So, what would be your assessment. Based on our "date," am I kissable? Will I invite you in? Am I a third-date kisser?"

I shake my head, slowly, a smirk on my face. "Oh, I'd say it's up in the air. If I were to kiss you, it would because you acted like you wanted it, at the door. …It's a moot point though. _I_ am a third-date kisser."

She smiles brightly, turning to look at me. "Really?"

I laugh lightly. "Really. My mother raised a gentleman." Or at least she thought she did. I had thought as much myself, before I moved to Vegas. As of right now, I was a rip-her-clothes-off-and-take-her-in-class… kisser.

…Well, in my mind, anyway. …Yeah, I was definitely going to dream about that now. God damn it.

She giggles. "…I don't know what I expected, but I think I'm surprised."

I grin and park in front of her dorm. "I don't know what that means, but I'll take it as a compliment…"

She turns to me, and her smile softens. For the third time tonight, she brings up the 'mock date' all on her own. "…If I wanted to be kissed, what 'signals' would I send at the door to ease my poor date's confusion?"

I grin. She's completely lost in me now. Completely. …Which means that I don't need to indulge in her invitation back into our little game… I don't need to entice her, because she's doing it for me. I shrug, taking on an aloof expression. "I'm not sure. It's just something you know… I'll see you in class, Sara."

She recognized it for the dismissal that it was, and though I saw hurt flicker in her eyes, it did not compare with the hunger I saw there. She nodded, thanked me again, and slid out of the car.

She was _mine_.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

A/N: Sorry it took so long, and sorry it's a little short. I was going to post this and the next one together, but as it's nearing one in the morning, chances are I won't finish the next one before bed. We did Christmas with the fiance's family today, so I haven't had much opportunity to write. :)

Let me know what you think! I promise, the next chapter will have some good things in it! (And faster reviews mean faster good things!!)

* * *

Chapter Eleven:

I remained aloof through class on Monday, and she was agitated. She stuttered over her words, and for the first time since I'd met her, she failed to answer a question correctly… or at all, although I think it was a result of the situation she was in.

Half of the class—the declared Forensic Anthropology majors—had gone more or less on a field trip, to the New York Crime Lab, because it was one of the top ten in the country. However, the department couldn't afford to take everyone enrolled in a related course—so it was limited. Sara, who was still debating between physics and forensics, was there, along with roughly eight others. So I suggested we have class in the lounge… have a more relaxed kind of day.

As soon as she sat down on one of the couches, _Ken_ was beside her, with _Hank_ on the other side. I was never holding class in the lounge again.

The question was a fairly simple one… She had just answered something about intuition and reading a scene based on what we know about people and their norms. Hank shifted in his seat, bringing his left knee up on the couch so he could rest his notebook on it to write, and his knee brushed her thigh. She shifted slightly away from him, trying to focus on what I was saying—which was basically expounding on her answer to the question, to make certain the rest of the class was informed.

I don't know whether Ken saw Hank's action and sought to lay his claim on her, or whether he misinterpreted her movements away from other man as a movement towards himself, but he put his arm on the couch behind her. Seeking to prevent his action, I turned back to Sara.

"So, if we can analyze a scene based on what we know about people as a species, what is the value of _experience…_ for a CSI?"

Her eyes widened at the word 'experience,' obviously bringing her back to our dinner conversation, and a split second later his arm slipped onto her shoulders and then she tensed, her shoulders bunching tight to her neck. "I… what?"

I can tell how uncomfortable she is… all I want to do is rescue her from her situation, trapped between two men who clearly desire her and under the gaze of a third man who is playing with her. …But to rescue her, I'd have to stop playing. Instead, I raise an eyebrow. "The _value_ of _experience_, Miss Sidle."

Her mouth fell open—I had never called her 'Miss Sidle' in anything but a teasing tone. Even as her teacher, she was always _Sara_. She looked hurt at my use of a title, and then flinched when Ken's fingertips started to play over her neck. She sat forward abruptly, so that his arm fell off of her, and her body remained tensed. "I, uh… I don't know..."

His hand moved forward, brushing against the small of her back, and she flinched again. I had resolved myself to ignore it—as in front of other students, I didn't need to seem like there was any reason for me to be possessive—but as he slid those dirty, wandering fingers beneath the hem of her shirt to brush the skin of her lower back, and her face was both horrified and redder than I'd ever seen it, her body almost completely off the couch now… I decided I could intervene.

I cleared my throat. "Mr. Fuller. Perhaps you should be paying attention to my lecture about what we can determine from what people _don't_ tell us. Miss Sidle, for example, isn't telling you that she's uncomfortable. However, as she's nearly crouching off the end of the couch trying to avoid you groping her in the middle of my class, my guess would be that she is." His face heated, and he snatched his hand away.

"For the record, copping a feel in school aside, you probably shouldn't touch women if they so obviously seek to avoid your grasping hands. That's how you incur rape charges. In this case, it would be statutory rape, as Miss Sidle is seventeen. Now, why don't you move to a couch across the room? …Unless, of course, Miss Sidle would like to press sexual harassment charges, in which case, you'll have to keep roughly a hundred feet from her..."

I glanced at Sara, who was staring at the floor, and yet somehow still knew I was looking to her for an answer. She shook her head, a minute gesture, and I raised an impatient eyebrow at Ken, who—bright red—let out a frustrated groan and moved across the room, not looking at me. I cleared my throat again.

"Just so everyone is aware, while I have little patience for PDA in my classroom, I have absolutely no patience with anyone forcing themselves on anyone else. I sincerely hope I won't encounter this problem again. Now, I believe we were discussing experience, which really comes down to intuition, in a sense. What does a typical B&E look like? The average person doesn't know this, but an experienced CSI will pick up on seemingly unimportant details…"

Ken was the first out of class. Sara lingered, uncomfortable and uncertain. I had stood up for her, yet I had been distant. She glanced up at me, wrung her fingers in agitation, and focused on a particularly boring area of the rug beneath her boots. I cleared my throat softly, and gestured with my head out the door—not telling her to leave, but asking if she was going to come down to my office with me again. She nodded, numbly, and we moved in silence.

Truth be told, I was a little concerned—my head of department wouldn't be happy I had humiliated the boy in front of his peers—but I did not think I had acted brashly, nor been nearly as harsh as I might have been. And though it affected me more personally than if it had been another young, female student, I knew for a fact that I would have said something regardless of who the girl was that was being harassed. I had seen too many peeping toms escalate… too many rape victims… to take something like that lightly.

I unlocked it and moved inside, and she followed me silently—almost meekly—and closed the door behind herself, sitting in her chair. I sighed and threw my reference book angrily to my desk and sighed. Away from the moment—able to feel relief that Sara was away from him and that I no longer had to so carefully conceal my concern for her—I felt exhausted. "…Are you okay?"

She looks up at me, startled, and a shaky smile crosses her lips. "Yeah… yeah, I'm fine."

She's relieved that I'm being kind to her. I smile too, although it's a shallow thing. "I, uh… You seemed like you needed some help."

She bites her bottom lip and then stands abruptly, moving over to my desk and wrapping her arms around me tightly, taking me by surprise. I stand, uncertain, my arms outstretched while she held me tightly… and after a moment, I let them fall around her, gently, giving a gentle squeeze to reassure.

"Thank you." She whispered, her mouth pressed against the shoulder of my shirt, and it took all my strength not to react openly to the gentle caress of her lips through the thin layer of cotton. Despite this effort, when she let the weight of her head go, her lips pressed solidly against my shoulder, I tightened my hold on her, breathing in the scent of her hair.

After a moment, I forced myself to pull gently from her and look in her eyes. "Are you really okay?"

She nodded, a little shakiness still present in her movements, and I gave a half-smile, disbelieving. "You have any more classes today?"

I know the answer to my question—I have memorized her class schedule, simply from her mentioning her class in passing—she's free until three. I don't know what she'll say, however. She hesitates. "I… why?" I smile.

"I was thinking maybe we should get away from here… a change of location might help put it out of your mind."

She looks up at me, directly into my eyes, seemingly unaware of the closeness between us. "I… I can skip it, today. Let's… Can we go to your place?" There's a hint of vulnerability in her voice, and I nod.

"Of course, Sara." I picked my coat up from the back of my chair. "Let's go."

She tilted her head. "…Really? Just… like that?"

I narrowed my eyes in confusion, pausing half-way to my door. "I, uh… yeah. Why…? What were you expecting?"

"I just… well, I've always gone to your house under… special circumstances. I told you about my horrible roommate, and it was during break, so it wasn't crossing limits as much, for me to come get coffee. And then, her friend trying to… and me showing up." She looks down, trying to hide the fear still in her eyes from the event. "And then, I came for a purpose—a Christmas present. I didn't think I could just… be at your house… for no reason."

I give her a strange sort of smile. "Well, don't worry about that so much. As long as I want you there, you can be there."

This wasn't as reassuring as I could have been, but then, I didn't want her feeling like she could come and go as she pleased, either. Being invited into my home should be a privilege, in her mind, even if it happened every day. She gave a hesitant nod, and we moved out in silence, hardly speaking until we were moving through my front door, sliding off our coats in the process.

She took in a deep, calming breath as soon as the door was closed, and at my questioning glance, she blushed and explained hesitantly. "I, uh… I haven't really felt… safe… like I could relax… anywhere in Boston… except here."

I give her an affectionate smile. "You can come here any time, Sara."

Her eyes were wide. "…Really? I mean… you don't have to say that. I know that… having me here… puts you at risk."

I shake my head. "I don't care. It's not illegal to have a minor in my home… Everyone needs a place to feel safe. You're more than welcome any time."

Tears filled her eyes, and she hugged me tightly again—this time I did not hesitate to hold her closely. …It made me wonder, briefly, if I ought not simply pursue her as a man, rather than as a possessor. Certainly, it would be more fulfilling… but I disregarded this thought. The risk was too great—having someone so young and beautiful—how on earth could I function when she left me?

Not _if_—when.

But if I owned her—controlled her, rather than loved her—she would never leave. She _could_ never leave. And that was the commitment I needed.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews! Let me know what you think! Hopefully I'll have the next one up tonight!

* * *

Chapter Twelve:

My welcoming words seemed to have given her confidence—when we had settled down on the couch with coffee, she moved to stretch out, and then looked at me speculatively. I laughed. "Go ahead, ask."

She tilted her head. "Ask what?"

I grinned. "Whatever it was you were thinking about asking me…"

She blushes, and laughs, and sighs deeply, avoiding my gaze. "I, uh… I was thinking about how nothing could make me feel safer, being here, with you… except…" I nudge her and her face re-heats. "… the pajama pants."

I beam. "You want them?"

She ducked her head. "Is that strange?"

I shake my head, and then stop, and nod instead, laughing. "Yes, a little. …I'll go get them for you."

A minute or so later I had brought them out to her and she had disappeared into the bathroom and returned, with 'ants in her pants,' as she liked to say. She had never been more beautiful, sliding onto the couch, her legs tucked beneath her, a smile on her lips. "Thanks. If these ever go missing, it's quite possible that I've stolen them from you…"

I laugh, looking at her, and my gaze softens. For some strange reason, I'm reminded of my mother—when we would read aloud, it was always curled on the couch in pajamas. She notices—almost as observant of me now as I am of her—"…What?"

I shake my head, slowly. "I dunno, just… something about this moment… reminded me of reading with my mother, you know, like I told you? …It just hit me."

She grins, a playful light in her eye. "…Let's read. Together." My eyes widen in surprise, and she immediately backtracks. "I mean, if… that's not weird. I just… I thought… but if that's, you know… something you and your mom do… I—"

"No… it's fine. I, uh… I didn't bring most of my books, from Vegas… I don't know if I have anything but textbooks, here."

"I have a book! …Oh, but… it's not…" She trails off, the pink in her cheeks telling me exactly what kind of book it is, and why she changed her mind. "…not really… nevermind."

I chuckle. "Sara… are you embarrassed of your explicit smut?"

Her eyes widen, but she picks up my joking tone easily. "No! I just… it's not 'smut,' really… there's a story line. When there's a sex scene in a movie, you don't call it 'smut.' It's just part of the story… why, in books, is sex treated like porn?"

I shake my head in disbelief, and when she glares, I can't help but laugh again. "Fine, fine. …Prove me wrong, then. Get the book out."

Her eyes flashed—unable to disregard a challenge—despite the hesitation in her limbs. After a moment, she sighed and got up, moving to the door and digging the paperback out of her backpack, offering me an uninterrupted view of her bent over. I looked away sooner than I needed to, lest my body give me away. It was going to be hard enough reading the book with her without being… hard.

Dare I say impossible?

She came hesitantly back to me, worn paperback in hand, blush already on her cheeks. I was beginning to believe that I would never think she looked right, without the flush. She sat hesitantly. "Did you… want me to read? Or you?"

I puckered my lips in thought. If I read, she would have nothing to distract herself… would she go crazy, trying not to touch herself? Yet if she did, it was another means of manipulation… making her say words which made her blush all the while under my unyielding gaze…

I couldn't decide, and compromise. "We'll take turns." I stood and moved to the kitchen, removing two bottles of water and returning, setting them before us on the coffee table. "We don't need to start over… just give me the background, up to where you are…"

I took the book from her gently, perusing the cover while she cleared her throat, meekly. "Well, uh… it's set in medieval times, although the country and specific time period are obscure… The man, Sebastian Reddrick—they call him 'Red'—is a Robin Hood of sorts… vigilante justice and a do-no-harm philosophy of living off the land and treating others. He doesn't ever kill, unless he's given no choice…"

I nod, glancing up at her, a smirk on my face. "Is this him, then?" I turn the book to show her my finger, pointing to a well-muscled man in a white tunic, open to reveal a good portion of his chest, and tight brown pants. He had long, auburn hair, tied back in a rugged pony tail—neat but still masculine. She giggled.

"Yes… and the woman, there—" she gestured to a woman to his right, as he was flanked by two. She had light brown hair, and bright eyes. She was dressed in pants and a low-cut tunic as well, but it was as simple as the man's, while the other woman…

"She's been his best friend since they were children, and when her father wanted to marry her off to a man in his seventies when she was fifteen, Red kidnapped her and took her to live in his forest home." At my raised eyebrow, she giggled again. "Right, I know, but they're all cheesy like this. Anyway, she's the only woman who lives there, but all of Red's followers are gentleman, so she has nothing to fear from the arrangement."

I chuckle, nodding. "Okay, and this woman, here?" This woman had dark, chocolately locks that swirled sensuously around her figure in the picture, and she was dressed in a gown of white and gold—though she showed just as much cleavage as the other woman.

"Our heroine. She _was_ sold into a loveless marriage by her father—the husband was young, but not any better than the man Christine—the friend—was supposed to marry. Now, Christine and Red were the children of lower noblemen. So Christine grew up speaking her mind, away from the parents who would punish her for doing so. She's her own woman, through and through. Raleigh—the heroine—"

"Wait, wait. In medieval Europe, there is a woman named after a city in North Carolina?"

She rolled her eyes impatiently. "I'm sure the name goes back further than that…"

I tilted my head. "And you're also sure that anyone would name a girl in the aristocracy that?"

She groaned. "_Willing suspense of disbelief_, Griss."

I grin. "I don't think this is what Coleridge had in mind…"

She took the book from me. "Well if you don't want to read…"

"No." I took it back easily. "We're reading. Tell me about this… _Raleigh_. She is not her own woman, through and through?"

She sighs in frustration, but there's a sparkle of amusement in her eyes. "Raleigh was taken off in a carriage immediately after her wedding celebration, and their marriage was consummated… quite brutally. When she tried to turn him away the following night, she was beaten severely, and one of the nursemaids who cleaned her up and washed the sheets she had bled on, told her brother—who worked as a guard in the manor—but who was also an informant for Red. Once word of her abuse reaches he and his follower's ears, they wait for her husband to make a three-day trip to appear in court and report to the King on the state of his lands, and they rescue her, taking her to a forest far from her husband.

"But he's a ruthless man, and he's scouring the Kingdom—even in the lands of other lords—in search of her. So she's staying with Christine and Red and his men… and Red charges Christine with being Raleigh's nurse maid, until she's healed. The problem is that Christine has been in love with Red her whole life… and Red is smitten with Raleigh… and Raleigh spends a good deal of time battling between being attracted to Red, and being afraid of him, because of what her husband did to her. And she's… meek, at first. She's not the strong woman that Christine is, in the beginning, and so while she's grateful for being rescued, she also feels like she can't betray her marriage vows…"

She glances at me, and then laughs. "Okay, so… where we are right now, is… actually… Red has just returned from a typical day trip of stealing from the rich to give to the poor, you know, the whole Robin Hood routine, but on the way home they were encountered by Raleigh's husband, Lord Byrn. He didn't suspect who they were, he simply thought they were bandits, but Red is injured… a deep gash on his arm, and a sprained ankle. Nothing severe, but still requiring care… Catherine wraps his ankle and cleans and wraps his gash, and then leaves, contemplating how much she loves the man, and how hurtful it is to see him look upon her as a trusted and much-loved sister."

She looks at me, pointedly, and I laugh again, thumbing through it until she stopped me, at the beginning of a chapter. I cleared my throat, and took her hand in mine, pressing it to my chest where I had told her my mother used to place hers. She blushed, and I began to read…

"_I watched as Christine exited his chamber, not noticing my presence, tucked in the alcove of the doorway up to the stables. She carried medical supplies, but the fact that she was leaving him for the night gave me hope that his injuries were, indeed, superficial._" I stopped reading, glancing up at her. "So, do they live in a castle in the middle of the forest… that doesn't seem very… secret."

She smiled, softly, keeping her hand pressed to my chest. "It's more like a… series of underground rooms and tunnels. The only part somewhat above ground is the stables, which are set into the side of a hill." I nod, giving her a silly smile.

"Of course. How silly of me. An underground hide-away. _…superficial. When I was certain she had passed, I creeped out of the shadows and moved to his doorway, knocking softly and letting myself in before he had time to answer, fearful of who might come across me in the hallway. I know not why I was nervous—living here was unlike living with my father or my husband, where my movements were restricted, but perhaps it was simply second-nature, now. _

_"It was quiet, in his room… and dark. It took me a moment to adjust to the absence of the torches which had lined the earthen walls—_Now, how do the torches stay lit, without ventilation?"

She rolled her eyes again. "They have ventilation. …Do you want me to read?" I laugh, and surrender the book.

"Maybe that would help with the interruptions, yes…"

She takes the novel from me, removing her hand from my chest, and I want to place mine to hers, but this feels like a step too far… She takes a drink from her water bottle, and scans the page for where I had left off. "_…which had lined the earthen walls. His eyes were adjusted already, however, and before I could see him in the bed, his voice told me where he was. 'Raleigh?' He spoke more softly than I was used to, stirring the fear in my heart again. I moved to him quickly. 'Red? How badly have you been injured? I have been so frightened…' _

_"A hand came to my cheek, gently caressing, causing a fluttering to spark to life beneath my ribs. 'I am hardly scratched, darling…' I know he is lying… he often calls me pet names when he seeks to disguise the truth, because I dislike them so. I tremble. 'Tell me where you're hurt, Red. I want no secrets… no sugar-coated fairy tales…' He chuckles softly, and the hand moves to my neck, his calloused thumb brushing insistently against my pulse point, making my knees quiver uncertainly. 'My ankle is swollen, Raleigh. Little else. A scratch here, a bruise there. It is the nature of my work…'_

_"I meet his eyes, hesitantly, wondering for the hundredth time about vows made under duress. Christine saw no reason for loyalty to the man who had brutalized me, yet had I not said I would be faithful, always? Yet those eyes do not allow me to ponder for long—the brightest, most brilliant blue, like oceans and hyacinths and sapphires." _

Sara paused, glancing nervously at me, and drawing in a breath. I realized, with some surprise, that she was thinking of my eyes. I grinned.

"_I lay a hand to his chest, and tears swim in my eyes, unbidden. 'I know not why I worry for you. You are arrogant, at best, in your reassurances…' He chuckles, and lifts his other hand to brush a strand of hair from my face, and he sighs. The sound reverberates through me, and I feel an unfamiliar warmth between my… thighs…" _She clears her throat and takes a drink of water, her face heated, her thighs pressed together tightly. I feel myself beginning to respond, knowing what she must be feeling, presently.

"_I gasp softly, at the sensation, and he smiles. 'I know not why you refuse me, Raleigh. …I would show you only tenderness… erase the only memories of love you have—those which taint your perception of the joining of two beings. You owe him nothing.' I tremble, finding myself moving closer to him, unconsciously, and my last awareness is of his soft smile, before he takes my lips with his, soft and rough, warm and cool… a thousand conflicting sensations, yet the absolute longing shooting down my spine and making my insides tremble was not conflicted. I knew, without doubt, that I desired this man… I had never known desire, but it is an emotion which doesn't need explanation, for it grips you so fiercely that you have no choice but to understand."_

She glanced up at me, blushing. "I, uh… I'm supposed to be proving that it isn't porn… maybe, uh… maybe I should skip ahead, to the plot… part."

I chuckle. "Your argument was that the sex was a part of the plot… a part of the story. Let's continue…"

She sighed, deeply, shifting her legs on the couch and bending to find her place again. I don't know for certain, but I may have caught the scent of her arousal, light and elusive, as she changed her body position. My bodily reaction was immediate—the beginning of a hard on, chilling heat running down my spine, my mouth watering, my limbs tensing, skin feeling tight against my body…

She cleared her throat, and I wondered, not for the first time, if I were not torturing myself at least as much as I was torturing her, in this endeavor.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

A/N: Reviews, yes? :) Because I'm nice and updated quickly.

* * *

Chapter Thirteen:

_"He pulled me, gently, into his bed, careless of his wounds—although his wince made it clear that he was in no little amount of pain. His kisses were soft—tentative—giving me the option to change my mind, but it is less than a conscious decision to be with him. I move as if my instinct alone, running my fingertips over the planes and angles of his face, memorizing the kindness and the gentleness, because I have never known love to come in this way, and it elicits an entirely different response in me."_

Her voice comes soft and fervent, the blush more of an excited flush, basking across her cheekbones.

_"My palms discover the shape of his shoulders, and rising to kneel to one side of him, I slide his tunic off, gently, because he is still stiff and sore. …Distantly, I'm aware of how his injuries will impact his ability to move, but it is not enough to stop me from bending over his muscled and bruised body, to place chaste, shy kisses to his chest. His gentle laughter reverberates through his chest, and through my lips, and I glance up at him, uncertain. 'Don't be shy, darling… every one of your touches is like fire, burning in the best of ways…'"_

I can clearly smell her now—the intoxicating smell of excitement and anticipation and naïve, unknowing desire.

_"Though this reassures me—my role in love making had previously been limited to lying silently, on my back, and not crying out from the pain, because it made my husband angrier—I can't seem to shake the nervousness. In an effort to disguise it, I try to busy my hands, sliding down his sleek stomach, forcing the trembles out of my fingers, but I stopped at his waist band, suddenly aware of the…" _

She clears her throat, glances at me again, and her voice wavers as she continues.

_"…the firm, pressing protrusion of his erection, just inches below my fingertips."_

My mouth is dry, but I manage a laugh, because I don't think I can sit and listen to her voice, low and husky and hesitant, describe a sex scene between a man with bright blue eyes and an inexperienced woman with dark brown locks. "I thought you said this wasn't porn?"

She blushes, but seems relieved for the break, and reaches for her water bottle again, taking a deep drink with some obvious measure of relief. "I… I don't think it is. In a movie, when there's sex…"

"I've heard this argument before… most movies that aren't considered soft-core, at least, have only a sex scene or two… fairly non-explicit. How many does this book have?"

She blushes. "Um… quite a few."

I grin. "Exactly. The only thing missing is a threesome with some girl on girl, and it might as well be selling in the back room of video stores."

She blushes brighter—and looks away. I tilt my head in confusion, going over what I'd said… certainly it was no worse than… Oh. _Oh_.

"Don't tell me there's… a threesome? In _this_ book? And you didn't think it was porn?!"

She laughs at the octave my voice jumps, but the blush remains. "I don't think they're all porn. …This one probably is."

"…Probably?"

She's grinning now, a playful smile on her lips. "So I suppose a female masturbation scene would qualify it as porn too…?"

My head nearly exploded. Seriously.

"A…what?!" I sputtered, and she giggled, shifting slightly closer to me. I think _I_ might have been blushing now. "…And here you play yourself off as this shy little virgin, while you're reading…" I shook my head, slowly, and decided to push it. "Probably not _just_ reading about… masturbation."

Her whole face heated… if I could have seen her torso, I was certain she might have been red to her bellybutton. My eyes widened again and I shifted in my seat, in a poor attempt to hide my own 'firm, pressing protrusion'. I grin, almost wickedly. "Sara Sidle… I don't believe you need quite as much saving as I thought…"

She hits my arm playfully, and I laugh openly, excitedly, wanting to simply devour her and barely restraining that impulse. "I… it's… healthy!"

I was bent over laughing at that, and she laughed hesitantly with me, bright as a tomato, a somewhat sad look in her eyes… like she regret my discovery. I tilt my head, letting the laughter drift slowly away, a smile still pressed to my lips. "Don't be embarrassed, Sara. Everyone does it."

Her eyes sparked, and she looked at me, intrigued. "…What do you use?"

My turn to blush. "I… excuse me?"

Impatiently, "When you… do what everyone does… You've heard firsthand about mine. What's do you use?" She says this as if we are children on the playground, and since I had dared her to jump off the swing and she had, I now had to as well.

I drew in a deep breath, trying to very rapidly assess how this plays into the game I often only half-remember I'm playing. Does this make me too accessible…? My response will simply have to be enigmatic and vague enough, to entice and still frustrate…

"My imagination."

She raises an eyebrow. "You never watch porn… and… do that?"

I chuckle, pretending to be more at ease than I am. "I _have_, yes… but the novelty wore off early. I find myself too critical of the poor acting and the unbelievable… props… that are often used. My brain is far more realistic… and original. No pizza guys or copy machines… and one woman will always suffice."

She smiles, softly, and I can see in her eyes that she has fallen a little harder in this moment. But she's… dangerously close to a confession. A declaration. I can't have that… so I grin, playfully.

"Have you ever?" She blinks, uncertain what I'm asking, and I clarify. "Watched a... porn… movie?"

Her eyes are wide, mouth open again, and without thinking, I make a decision. She's going to watch one—in my bed—and be unable to touch me. I don't know how I'm going to swing it… but it's going to happen. She shakes her head that no, she hasn't ever watched one, and I grin.

"Let me show you what I mean… they're ridiculous! Even ones deemed to be 'couples-porn', which is less crude but… otherwise, not much better." I stand, moving towards my bedroom, as if it's the obvious thing in the world, and she stands, watching me more awkwardly. I glance back at her, in confusion—apparently unaware of how strange this interaction was. "I don't have any… it would be on a movie channel, which I only have in the bedroom… Come on."

And I turn and walk from her, into my bedroom, thankful that I had had to change the sheets again this morning and they were, therefore, clean and the bed was made. I flick the light on, snatch up the remote, and start scanning movie channels, looking for the adult ones… because I honestly didn't know them offhand. I hadn't lied when I said my imagination was better, I just hadn't told her that she was the only one I ever imagined any more.

I hear her enter behind me, hovering hesitantly in the doorway. "Make yourself at home… I have to find one." She sits, lightly, on my bed, and I can feel her eyes as they scan the room and come to rest on my back uncertainly. Finally, I find them, and turn to her and grin. "Alright… let's see… they're about halfway through "In Diana Jones, the temple of—"

She cringes, and cuts me off. "Don't say it. I can read. …You said… 'couples porn'? What's that?"

I smile, moving around the bed and sitting on the opposite side. "For men and women to watch together, rather than just aimed at men… it's less… well, less disgusting, to be honest. And there's more plausible story lines. Really, you're mostly going to laugh, Sara… it's ridiculous."

She nods, grinning too. She seems more relaxed with my assurances. We scan through the list, joking over titles, and finally choose one that's starting in about a half hour, and sounds like it will be tolerable. Nothing I would be ashamed to have shown her… hopefully. I glance at the clock, and at the start time of the film.

"We just have time to order a pizza before it starts… what can I interest you in?"


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

A/N: Last chapter for tonight! Let me know what you think! :) ...Anyone as frustrated as Grissom yet? :P

* * *

Chapter Fourteen:

I never laughed so hard in my life. Despite Sara's shy demeanor, she seemed to be not the slightest bit uncomfortable laughing at porn, once she realized that it was far cheesier than the books she read. She sat cross-legged beside me, on my bed, in my pajama pants, a piece of pizza in one hand and a cold can of soda cradled between her thighs, and laughed and laughed at the sex on the screen.

I couldn't help but be intoxicated with the intense and intriguing mystery of her.

It had started with the deep, pervading tension I had expected—she had leaned casually against my headboard, her thighs held tightly together and her arms crossed over her chest, far too quiet. And when the main woman turned out to look quite a bit like Sara herself, she blushed profusely. If I had planned such a thing, it would have been brilliant… as it was, I just got lucky.

When she offered to go pay the pizza man, simply because she was uncomfortable, I checked who the actress was—Debbie Marlin. I was rather surprised she didn't have a fake name, but then… maybe there was some innuendo I was simply missing.

She chose not to eat, at first… waiting to see how bad it would be. But after five minutes, she was giggling and throwing me amused glanced at the contrived and corny dialogue, her eyes sparkling brightly with mischief.

"_Really?_ …This… is porn? I mean, this is what wives get mad about and men lust over from puberty until death?"

She giggled again, as if nothing in the world could amuse her more, and the rest of the movie was made with us cracking jokes and stealing pepperonis off each other's pizzas, trying to come up with lines that could be triter than the ones the actors had just used for the particular situation…

When it finished, she turned to me and grinned, though there was something unexpected in her eyes… a seriousness… a pervading sense of purpose. "I understand why you stopped watching these… they're terrible." I grin, but she isn't done yet. "So… what do you imagine?"

My eyes widen. She rolls onto her side, bracing her head on her hand, long, lithe body spread out like a feast of curves, and I was so very hungry. "I, uh… what?"

She giggles at my discomfort, and I remind myself that I'm the one in control. I clear my throat.

"… it's rather boring, actually. Nameless, faceless women… rarely anyone I know. Usually it's just hair and a body…" Liar. Liar. Liar.

She bites her bottom lip, and I see the flicker of disappointment before she hides it. I decide to fight back. "And you?"

She choked on the piece of pizza she'd been chewing, and it took several moments and a long drink of pop before she could speak… "Sorry… I swallowed wrong." I grin. Sure you did.

"So… what do you think of? When you're not reading, that is…"

She pales before she blushes, giving her the brief appearance of an old-school, rotating barber's pole. I smirk, and she stutters for a moment, before drawing in a deep, steadying breath.

"I… really?"

I chuckle. "_Really_. I promise, I won't… laugh or… judge you… or anything."

She rolls onto her stomach, burying her face in the blankets, and I let my eyes slide over the delicate muscles in her back while she groans and then finally mumbles into the blankets.

"Ib muffben flinkbin goffboo."

I narrow my eyes. "…Uh, could you say that again?"

"Ib muffben _flinkbin_ goff_boo_!"

I nearly started laughing, but I didn't want her to think I'd actually understood her and was laughing at her fantasy, which I'd promised not to do. "I… I'm sorry, Sara, I can't understand a word you're saying…"

She groaned and tilted her head forward, so that her mouth was out of my bedding, but the rest of her was still pressed safely into the covers. "…I've been thinking of… you."

My jaw dropped. …I had known this, of course… but I'd never thought she'd actually tell me so. I had no idea how to respond. Fortunately, she quickly sought to explain… to downplay her confession.

"I just… you told me that I needed someone experienced, for my first time… which, you know, you're the only person I really know who would be… experienced… without being a man-whore or an asshole. And… it just kind of… happened."

I breathe a sigh of relief—this I can play off. I know what to do, with this.

I chuckle softly, not meanly, and brush the hair out of her face, so she can see me out of the side of her eye. "I… I'm flattered." I chuckle again, as if I'm a little uncertain, and smile at her. "So… was I any good?"

Her face flashes red again and she buries her face once more, shrugging her hair back in front of her face. It took at least twenty minutes of me reassuring her that it didn't change how I viewed her before she would look at me, but eventually we laughed about it. I drove her home around early evening, and she hovered in the car for a moment, as if wanting to say something… or perhaps waiting for a kiss. When I neither kissed her nor asked what she was waiting to say, she offered a hushed 'goodnight' and slipped out of the car.

I laid awake in bed for a long time, imagining Sara touching herself, thinking about me… and eventually drifted to sleep, although my dream was hardly a change of topics.

_She was in white—a satin nightgown, spaghetti straps and lace lining a delicate pink… that matched the flush on her cheeks. Her head was tilted back on the pillow, her legs spread wantonly, one hand gripping the sheets at her side, the other between those legs… She wasn't wearing underwear. _

_I move to the foot of the bed, standing over her, as she pleasures herself, moaning softly with eyes squeezed tightly, the look on her face a mixture of bliss and frustration. And then my name comes on the breathy end of a gasp, and she looks so desperate for a release she can't seem to find…_

_I clear my throat and her eyes fly open, but she doesn't look embarrassed… her hand stills, and she whines in quiet desperation. She will not tell me to please her, nor will she ask me, yet. But she won't please herself, with me there—because nothing she can do to herself is as good as what I can do to her. I see this in her eyes, and I'm so hard I feel like I want to scream. _

_I bend before her, moving slowly up the bed, pushing the hand resting on her inner thigh away impatiently, because it can only get in the way… a lower my face between those long, gorgeous, silky legs… I'm very careful—touching her just so… making sure that the fingers inside her both fill her up and rub against her g-spot, while I suck her clitoris into my mouth, making her lift her hips completely off the bed, trying to feel more of my administrations. _

_It isn't long before her moans are mixed with whimpers—desperate, longing whispers, and I lift my face only long enough to urge patience… to reassure that it's coming… she just has to work a little harder for the first one. And when it comes—her screams are surprising in their intensity… she's blown away, and that innocent, pink, little mouth becomes home to a new kind of vulgarity. Her muscles pump against my fingers, long after she's come down, and her eyes are out of focus… her body still arched, just slightly, unable to right herself completely after the leap she's just taken… the soaring, flying, bigger-than-life jump into womanhood. _

_And then her eyes are fluttering, turning to take me into their gaze, and I know that she wants to feel me. Normally I would feel the need to tease her… make her beg… but I'm overcome with a gentleness, and a desire to please. It is enough that she was thinking of me, when I wasn't here… that she looks up at me as if I am the only man in the world. _

_It's enough that she would beg me, if I wanted her too. _

_I move above her, planting soft, loving kisses over her lips and cheeks and across her hair and jaw lines, until she's responding to me… her fingers moving over my body, her breathing ragged, her hips arching up in an effort to entice me. I meet her eyes and hold them as I gently position myself, sliding in slowly, reveling in how she struggles to keep hers open—because she wants to see me, but the sensation is clearly overwhelming her… and, truth be told, it's overwhelming me as well. _

_I feel a slight resistance, but I do not break through it roughly… it seems to melt away with slight pressure, and she doesn't seem to notice… she's wide-eyed and teary-eyed and whispers into the stillness, "…I didn't know… couldn't imagine… how… complete…how full..."_

_She closes her eyes, tears sliding out the corners, and I kiss the salty droplets away, just remaining pushed into her completely, for a moment, because it is the sweetest kind of torture… the most beautiful moment of my life. She opens her lids—her deep brown eyed are shining with the tears that haven't fallen yet, and before I can think… before I know that I'm going to do anything at all… I'm bending to kiss her, softly, and then opening my mouth to speak. _

_"Oh, god, Sara… me too. It's… never felt like this… with anyone. Only you, honey… only you. Sar'-Bear… I lo—_

My alarm clock went off, and I woke up in absolute and extreme pain. I jacked off three times in the shower, before the ache would cease. I tried not to think of the dream, because it had been troubling… far more troubling than most. I never, in my dreams, spoke to her so tenderly… and never did I feel the need to make a declaration, or use her pet name…

So it was very troubling, but I tried not to think about it—instead groaning and starting number four. God damned dreams.


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: It's shorter than I intended, but I will hopefully have 16 up tonight. I'm just running out of time, but whistlingawaythedark left a very _subtle_ hint that I needed to update, and I feel I owe it, considering all the reviews I've gotten. :) Hehe. Besides, you guys don't mind cliff hangers, do you?

(Faster reviews=faster updates!)

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Chapter Fifteen:

Being a forensic entomologist, I could hardly do a forensics class without including insects. We did a week-long project with a dead pig kept out in the back parking lot. My colleagues didn't appreciate it, but I thought it was an amazing learning experience. I offered extra credit for anyone who would come watch the pig overnight with me while I documented those hours… because offering Sara extra credit was like offering catnip to a cat… or offering insects a dead pig.

I felt guilty when, night after night, she appeared bearing coffee and blankets and more activity books than one person had any right to own. She had doubles of them all—we raced each other in Sudoku and she always beat me. Her mind was so good with numbers. In chess, however, which we played without a board—we drew a grid on the inside cover of one of the books, and just wrote down the movement of each piece separately, on finished puzzle pages, so that the game was play almost entirely in our minds—I always won.

I was reassured by this. She may have a quick mind for certain things… patterns and deductive reasoning, but I was the strategist between us. I could always outmaneuver her. I was in control.

And at some point, I reasoned that I would need to step it up. I couldn't be her friend, and her teacher, and the man she fantasized about. Not… not in the normal context. Because those were all things she could walk away from. I had devised the extra credit because I hadn't wanted to sit in the cold all night watching a damn, dead pig, alone.

But other than monopolizing her time and preventing her from regular sleep, I wasn't sure exactly how I was exhibiting my control. …Maybe I wasn't cut out for this manipulation business. Some of it had come easily, but more often than not I forgot I was even doing it until a blatant opportunity presented itself.

On the fifth night, when we were out of activity books and sick of chess, a blatant opportunity presented itself. Or, well… Sara presented it. I wondered, vaguely, if she weren't the one slowly but surely torturing me and controlling me.

"We, we could play party games… drinking games… Obviously, without the alcohol, but…"

I narrowed my eyes. "Where did you learn drinking games?"

She laughed. "I lived in foster homes with teenagers. Even when they couldn't get access to alcohol, they'd play with soda, just because they thought it made them cool. …Why, haven't you ever played drinking games?"

I shrug. "Some, I'm sure. …My generation didn't really feel the need to play games designed to get you drunk—if you wanted to get drunk, you just drank more."

She laughs—it's a wonderful sound. "Well, anyway… some of them could translate into just games. Truth or Dare, Never Have I Ever, or the ABC game…"

I tilted my head. "Never have I ever? What's that?"

"It's, uh…well, okay. Say it's my turn—I say… 'never have I ever… flunked a test.' And then everyone who has done it has to drink. And then it'd be your turn… and you could say… 'Never have I ever… had a one-night stand.' And then everyone who has would have to drink."

"…So, you are basically forcing people to reveal their deepest secrets by drinking deeply?"

She laughed. "Yes. Exactly. But you reveal your own as well. …It's fun."

I raised an eyebrow skeptically. "What's the ABC game?"

"It works best in bigger groups—like ten people. You start with a topic like… you know, it could be anything from foods you like to places you've been to… types of alcohol, body parts… and then everyone has to name something from A. When you can't come up with one, relatively quickly, then you drink. And then when everyone's had a turn, you go to B… by the time you're in the hard letters, people aren't thinking clearly anyway…"

I puckered my lips in thought. "Why don't we, instead of playing a complicated game, just pick a certain number of questions that we can ask the other person—and they have to answer honestly. It would be the same as the truth in Truth or Dare or that… Never Have I Ever… but so much simpler."

She blushed, but nodded, sipping coffee out of a travel mug—from the English department's lounge—the best on campus—she had informed me. "Okay... Do you think… three a piece sounds fair? To start?"

I nod, and gesture that she should begin. She squirms in her seat uncomfortably, and stares at the dead pig at our feet, thinking. After a few moments, she breaks the silence. "Are these… just questions? Or, I mean… can we ask each other to expound on them."

I grin. "Expound, I think. …It'll make it more interesting."

She half-smiles, her lips puckered in a worry. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, as if she can't look at me while she asks. "...Okay, then… expound on… your… first time."

My eyebrows raised in surprise, and Sara opened her eyes and immediately averted them downwards. I sighed softly.

"I was eighteen, going to school at UCLA, and still living at home with my mom. She was… my first girlfriend—Amy—and she was… more experienced than I. …Too experienced, truth be told, but I was naïve and… believed that I was in love. I was… the average eighteen year old male who'd only had his hand for company since puberty—eager… overzealous. Still, I managed to wait 'til we'd been dating a few weeks, although she invited me up after our first date.

"It wasn't that I didn't want to… but my mother really did raise me to respect women. I felt like it would be… tantamount to… I don't know, hitting her, maybe. …To disrespect her by taking her so soon, I might as well have been abusing her…"

I drew in another deep breath, and glanced at Sara. She watched me with wide eyes, completely involved, and I couldn't help but feel a little giddy inside. She was wrapped around my little finger, in this moment.

"But, as I said… your hand can only do so much to reign in adolescent hormones, and she was nothing if not tempting. …It was in her dorm room, while her roommate was spending the night with her boyfriend… I, uh… I didn't last long. …We had kissed for a long time and then she had her hand on me and I… I was lying there on my back, trying to come up with coherent reasons why she shouldn't have either of our pants down, and why she shouldn't be straddling me, and then…"

I glance up again. Sara's lips are parted—the expression in her eyes is hard to read, and I get the feeling that she is conflicted. She doesn't like Amy… but she's imagining herself doing such things to me. I give an awkward half-smile.

"Well, anyway, I'm sure it disappointed… but she seemed pleased at the idea of having taken my virginity. I… I tried to use my hand on her, but… as I said, I wasn't very experienced, and she got frustrated, after a few minutes and pushed me away… and, we… we had sex a few more times but… within a couple weeks, she was avoiding me… not returning my phone calls… I figured it out pretty quick."

She shakes her head slowly and swallows hard. "I… that's horrible, Griss. I'm… I'm really sorry."

I shrug. "I learned pretty quickly that I had been more in lust with her than in love… and at the very least, she prevented me from being too much of an embarrassment with subsequent girlfriends, so… I wasn't bitter for long."

She nods, slowly, and I watch her face intently, considering my options.

"…Expound on…" I brace myself mentally, but force a calm expression to my features. "…what you think, about me, when you touch yourself."


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

A/N: Sorry! I've been fighting off a cold for days now and fell asleep right after dinner last night! :( I didn't mean to leave you all hanging!

Although, reading the reviews this morning was rather entertaining... You guys weren't very happy with me. Hehe.

Hope this makes up for it. Next chapter tonight if you're lucky--you might not be, the fiance and I have a date with his niece and some chipmunks--or tomorrow at the latest.

Thanks for the reviews! They mean the world! (More please?)

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Chapter Sixteen:

_"…Expound on…" I brace myself mentally, but force a calm expression to my features. "…when you think about me, when you touch yourself."_

Her whole face paled and then colored, and she looked away from me for a moment, and then glanced back with a strangely defiant look on her face. She drew in a deep breath.

"Why?"

I smile, betraying my nervousness. "Curiosity, I suppose." I wanted to say that, had someone young and beautiful told her such a thing, it would drive her crazy too, but I was hardly holding on to my emotions as it was. …I really wasn't all that good at this control business.

She exhaled in a rush and sat herself up straighter. "I… it's always about… You told me that my first time should be with someone older. So in my mind, I… it's always… my first time, and…" she swallows hard, glances at me, and then focuses intently on the pig again.

"Most girls my age imagine their first time as this… you know, crazy and improbable night of romance—rose petals and candles and beaches… white linen and red wine, dark chocolate and light kisses. They… imagine slight pain, immense pleasure… and the guy—_the_ guy—will say all the right things and do all the right things to make it a night of perfection. And, you know, maybe it's the romance novels getting to me but…"

Her eyes flicker to me and away again. "I never used to care about that, and now it's… I'm more sappy than I ever thought I would be, really. …I mean, I still don't care about, you know… everything being perfect and the set-up, because that's so generic. It's more about… details. I don't imagine a scenario in which we would ma—have sex… because rationally, I know it's impossible, and that… that the only reason it's in my head at all is because you're the only older person I know that I trust… but I imagine… the little things."

She paused, and I opened my mouth to ask her to explain, but it wasn't necessary… she was already speaking again.

"Like… how your eyes would flicker, dark to light, in candle light. …Or, you said… having an orgasm… the first time… how it's… difficult. I imagine… coaxing words on the ends of sighs." She laughs a little self-deprecatingly and blushes. "I can't help but imagine you… teaching, because you're… the consummate teacher in my mind, and so there are… instructions. …You teach me everything."

I had never been more grateful for the presence of a clipboard and the blanket I had draped over my knees. …I was going to dream about teaching her now, I knew it… how to touch me, different positions, how to…

"Grissom?"

My head snapped up to her and she smiled uncomfortably. "You just… didn't say anything."

I give her a wry smile—with no little amount o difficulty. "Sorry… just thinking. …I didn't mean to… make you uncomfortable, asking that."

She shook her head slowly. "That's the point of these questions, though, right? …Asking things we couldn't otherwise ask?"

I nod, slowly, and she smiles—more at ease than I am. I force a smile in return, willing myself back into control… when was the last time she had appeared desperate for my approval? When had she last striven for a compliment? …What could I do to turn it around…? How did I next pursue this game?

But she was ahead of me—asking her next question.

"Why did you… leave Vegas? Was it… because of a woman?"

I tilted my head, wondering how she knew that I'd left to run away from something, rather than simply to do something different for a change. I shift my jaw side to side.

"I, uh… I worked this case… a, uh… triple. Three children… their deaths the product of the worst extremes and excesses in human behavior—sex, drugs, blissful unawareness and selfish overindulgence… The two-year old girl was raped, brutally… given to a pedophile to pay off a debt. It eventually killed her, just the… injuries inflicted in the…" I swallowed hard, my mouth dry.

"…and her older brother was beaten to death for trying to protect her from their brutalizations. He was four. …Their little brother was only a few months old… and he wasn't beaten or raped or abused… he was simply neglected. Left in an apartment that no one had access to, in the Vegas heat for three days. I, uh… I couldn't get their faces out of my head, so… it was… leave or… quite literally, lose my mind."

She looks sympathetic—and she's about to speak, but I don't want to talk about the children. I was just lucky that she had been haunting my dreams as of late instead of them.

"Why Harvard? Why… so soon? Were the foster homes that bad?"

She looks startled, and then gives me a half-smile, shifting her weight backward in her chair, so that she's sitting on the edge, her legs stretched out before her, her shoulder blades against the back of her seat. "That's more than one question…" She teases.

"Have it be my two then." I counter. She grins.

"I, uh… it's the best. I mean… Stanford and Yale and Princeton… they're all Ivy League and, you know, just as good… but when you think of the best… if someone asked you to name the place to get the best education one could have… Harvard is your first thought. I thought that if I could come from where I did and graduate from Harvard then… nobody could say I was like my parents. …It would be proof that… that I wasn't going to become who they were."

I nod, slowly, watching her, and she exhales loudly again, her eyes sliding to the right in thought.

"The foster homes weren't all bad—but even when the people were nice, you were still living with strangers and with their judgment, because they all knew exactly why you were there. It was… horrible. And then… there were foster parents who clearly were only interested in the monthly check. …Or couples where the woman was kind and gentle and the husband would spank you for spilling milk when she wasn't in the room… and flirt with the teenage girls, which was… just… gross on every level."

I chuckle at her phrasing, although what she's saying isn't remotely funny, and she laughs too, looking like it's a choice being laugh or cry. After a moment it dies away and, focused on the pig again, her voice comes soft—hesitant—but still clear. Her face is red, and she won't look over at me, but then… she doesn't look away this time either.

"…Have you… ever thought about me?"

My eyes opened wide and I hesitated a moment, and then…

"You're seventeen, Sara." It came out harshly. Scolding.

She nodded, and looked down, and I felt immeasurably guilty, looking away myself. I hadn't meant to hurt her feelings. And I didn't believe that I had been so short and dismissive that she would give up, but… maybe it had been a step too far. …Maybe I needed to encourage her, but not too much. I searched for the appropriate way to do so.

"…Anyway, I know I said you needed someone older but… maybe not so much older. I doubt someone so young and beautiful would find an old man like me all that enticing outside the realm of fantasy."

Her head snapped up, and she seemed eager to contradict my statement—assure me that she did, in fact, find me enticing in the flesh—and to question me calling her young and beautiful. …But I couldn't allow that either—so I stood up, pretending not to notice that she'd been about to speak.

"…I'll be right back. Too much coffee..." I said, gesturing with my head back to the building and the restrooms within. She sighed under her breath and nodded, looking away from me again, and I hid my shaking hands in my pockets, moving inside.


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I do not own.

A/N: :) Thanks for all the amazing reviews! Let me know what you think.

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Chapter Seventeen:

Spring Break came on shortly after the extra credit project, and I was both anticipating and dreading it. It would mean that I would not see Sara several times a week, but then… over Christmas break I had seen her rather more than I thought I would, and we were certainly closer now than we had been.

…I just needed a moment to regroup, rethink this whole thing… reevaluate.

Of course, I had no such luck.

On the last day of class before break, we were going through a crime scene that was heavy on blood spatter because we'd spent the week going over directionality. By the end, Sara was looking a little ill, which concerned me. I hoped she stayed, rather than rushing out at the end… after all, only half the class had made it in—it was the Friday before Spring Break, after all.

When it became clear she wasn't going anywhere—she leaned back in her desk, looking pale and shaky—I caught her eye and nodded, so she knew I'd be right back, and hurried out to get her water. I didn't know what was wrong, but I wanted her to stop looking so frail. It frightened me and made me feel… a strange kind of vulnerability mixed with intense guilt.

When I returned, Hank was perched in the desk in front of her, swiveled around in the chair he had no right to occupy, looking concerned.

"Why don't we go down to the lounge? I'll get you a bottle of water from the machine…"

I set the bottle I had returned with beside my briefcase and gathered my files, attempting to look as if I wasn't paying them any attention.

She shook her head, wearily. "I just need a minute to sit, Hank. I'll be okay…"

He looked disappointed, but after a moment seemed to regroup. I wondered when he had gotten a pair, but then I was just being spiteful.

"Then, maybe we can get coffee some other time? …When you're feeling better?"

There was a pause, and then Hank jumped to his feet and rushed at my desk, snatching the waste basket and returning to her just in time for her to bend over it and heave. …I hadn't even noticed her turning green—I had been focused on looking disinterested—but Hank had. Quickly enough to respond…

I felt a pang deep in my stomach that I could neither define nor explain away.

No longer able to feign unawareness, I took the water and brought it to her. Her cheeks were red, and she couldn't meet my eyes, and I wasn't certain whether she was embarrassed because she had vomited in front of me—a man she was attracted to—or if it was because I was her teacher, and I had said countless times that you needed a strong stomach to work in forensics.

My uncertainly upset me. Deeply.

Still, she took the water and drank deeply, looking a little relieved.

Hank pulled his best inner gentleman out of the balls he had suddenly just acquired.

"Why don't I walk you back to your dorm, Sara? You're in Fulton, right?"

She shook her head slowly. "I just moved… Greene Hall."

He moved diligently to her side and helped her out of her seat—she glanced at me for a moment, offering a smile and a blush, and then looked away again. And they moved, as one, out of the classroom and down the nearest flight of stairs, the water I had bought her sitting, abandoned, on her desk.

She came to see me, the next day, in my office. The building was abandoned once again, and I tried very hard not to be short or cold with her because it would give away how hurt I'd been, yesterday, and that was a weakness. …I needed to not care, when she dated other men. …Or, at least, not be hurt by it.

I had spent the night, lying awake, thinking through every possible outcome. If I acted jealous, I would be giving her the power. If I pretended as though nothing had happened, she would feel free to do such things whenever she felt like it. …I needed to keep her in the in-between, not knowing if I cared for her, but aware that there were still consequences to her actions.

I determined that I would be distant on the premise of giving her a chance to spend time with the young people she should be spending time with… so that it became a choice between seeing them and seeing me. …I was confident that Hank, even with his newfound testicles, would not be chosen over me.

The hard part would be pulling it off without giving away my extreme personal interest in who she was seeing.

So when she knocked and then let herself in without waiting for me to invite her in, I drew a deep breath. "Sara. …I hope you're feeling better. Do you have the flu?"

She didn't look sick—but her cheeks were as pink as ever. She closed my door and slid into the seat before my desk. "No, I… the crime scene… the spatter… It all reminded me of… my parents."

My expression softened and she looked at her feet. "I, uh… I don't want you to think that I… I can't handle a crime scene. I can." She said, fervently, her cheeks coloring now at the intensity of her emotion. "I can handle blood and sweat and… vomit… it was just the… the picture you painted was really… similar, and then I was… reliving… I was analyzing the spatter and it was…"

She swallowed hard and glanced at me. "Anyway, I… I'm fine, now. I just… I'm sorry I didn't stay, yesterday."

I shake my head slowly. "No, of course not. …Don't be sorry. You were in good hands."

She blushed and wrung her fingers. "I… yeah, I guess. …Uh, it's… do you want to go grab some coffee?"

I tilt my head. "Weren't you going to get coffee with Hank?"

She's confused, and frowns. "…Or we could go… read?"

I smile softly, "I don't think so."

She looks alarmed—hurt—"I, uh… oh. …Are you… busy?"

I shake my head. "Not particularly, but… well… Sara, I've been… thinking." She looked like those were the last words she wanted to hear from me, but I continued. "After… the night with the pig… and, uh… well, yesterday. Hank. …Maybe you should be spending more time with people… your own age."

She looks startled, and then confused. "Oh. …I… Oh."

I smile. "I'll see you in class, Sara."

She shakes her head, aware she's losing ground. "I… I am having coffee with him. So… so you don't need to worry. We can still… be friends."

I feel unease spread through me, but I fight it back. This is all the more reason not to back down… to keep up with my plan, because she seems quite desperate at the moment. "That's… great news, Sara. I'm glad that you _are_ spending time with someone. I worried that… you know, without me, you'd… be all alone. I didn't know if I could justify not being friends, even if our relationship has become… a little unorthodox… if it meant you'd lose your only companion."

She's shaking her head, tears brimming in her eyes, and she stands when I do, glancing between me and the door uncertainly.

"…You'll be fine, Sara. Really. And… I'll always be around, if you need help again, but… I think it's better, this way." I smile sadly and move around her, to the door, pulling it open. "I'll… see you in class, Sara."

She brushed past me swiftly, and I was certain there were tears falling that she didn't want me to see. I closed the door and let myself sink into the chair she'd just occupied, an emptiness filling me up. I could only hope that I hadn't miscalculated… and that she would be back, sans Hank, before I could miss her too much.

I wasn't going to share her.


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: I do not own.

A/N: Apparently you weren't very happy with the last chapter. ...Hopefully, this makes up for it.

Reviews, yes? :)

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Chapter Eighteen:

She didn't come see me again through all of spring break, and it wore on me. I wasn't certain that she would have more than once or twice, even before I had sent her away, so it shouldn't have concerned me as deeply as it did. I couldn't expect my plan to work in a day… and when she came back, I would need to welcome her with the correct amount of relief and affection—so I spent most of the break thinking through proper responses.

I couldn't be aloof—that would hurt her feelings and push her away. But I couldn't seem too relieved or too happy either… It was a balancing act, like every other part of this game I'd been playing. A hug would be good—it would make her want to keep trying. I could even tell her that I'd missed her—and I had. I just needed to be moderate about it.

I went to the office every day of break, though I didn't have enough work to occupy more than a day or so, and ended up finishing lesson plans for the entire rest of the semester as well as writing the final exam—a verbal crime scene. But she didn't come to the office.

On the last day of break I was beginning to feel desperate… considering keeping her after class on Monday and telling her I'd been wrong and that I'd missed her. Even if I lost the power, that wasn't as bad as losing her entirely. …Thankfully, it never came to that. Instead, Sara came to my house.

The knocking on my door came early—interrupting a dream that, weeks ago, would have been erotic but now just seemed sad. Sara had sat on my bed, in a cream-colored nightgown, but the smile on her face—which might have been enticing, now only seemed sad. It was a relief to wake to it, but then I was stumbling into pajama pants and staggering to the door, bleary-eyed and only half aware.

As soon as the door opened she was pushing her way in. "I'm sorry it's so early Grissom, but I needed to talk to you and I just couldn't wait any longer." She looked at me, blushing upon realizing that I was shirtless and clearly only half-awake, but this didn't deter her.

"I, uh… I tried to do what you said, Grissom. I had coffee with Hank last Saturday. I… he took me to dinner Monday night… a movie and lunch on Wednesday, a picnic in the park on Friday, Dinner again last night. …Grissom, it was awful. I _promise_ I tried to spend time with him. I tried to do what you said, and I… I know that our relationship is hard for you, and it… it puts you in a difficult position. I know that you're jeopardizing your career but… but if you be my friend again…"

She stopped, whimpering, tears swimming in her dark eyes.

"…I don't _want_ to spend time with horrible people just because they're my age, Grissom. Mentally I'm not seventeen! Or even nineteen or twenty… I… I hated every minute of every date and I kept trying because you told me to… Please, don't… don't send me away again."

I was taken completely off-guard, and didn't respond based on my carefully laid out plan of do's and don't's… I simply pulled her to my bare chest with abandon, hating that she had gone on so many dates with anyone else… hating that it had been my fault… hating that she could have been spending all of that time with me. She locked her arms around me, pressing against my bare back, and pressed her face into the hair on my chest, breathing in deeply.

I wondered if she knew she was doing it—if she knew how obvious she was being. ...And then I thought about decomps, because otherwise I would be obvious as well.

"I… I would never send you away, Sara."

She sniffled, clinging to me more tightly. "You promise?"

"Of course, honey. …I'm sorry." I said it, and I meant it. Deeply.

I wasn't just sorry that she'd been with another man when she ought to have been with me. I was sorry that I had made her unhappy. She buried her face deepen into me.

"…I tried, Grissom. I did."

"I know, honey… I know. I won't send you away."

I rocked her gently until she calmed enough to tell me that she'd been up all night—she hadn't let him kiss her the first few nights… allowed it on the third because I had made it sound like it was expected… and Friday night, he had tried to keep kissing, and last night he had all but invited himself up to her dorm room. She had been unable to sleep, simply waiting until it was late enough for her to come to me.

At which point, I pulled her into my bedroom—my sheets clean, for once, thank goodness—and passed her the ants pajama pants. She moved into my master bathroom, not the hall bathroom, to change… and when she came out, it wasn't even a discussion. We slipped under my covers, and she hesitantly moved until her head was on my chest.

It took every ounce of control in my body to just cuddle her, hold her, not kiss her. …Because I knew she'd be more than willing. And for her part, she didn't try to tempt me. She simply sighed deeply and curled up close. Despite the excitement such a situation should have inspired, she hadn't slept all night, and I myself had had a tough time falling asleep, so sleep came fast and easy.

She muttered against my chest, softly, before she fell asleep, that she promised that I wouldn't regret this. …That she wouldn't tell anyone… that I wouldn't lose my career for being her friend.

I wanted to tell her that she was more important than my career—although I certainly didn't want to go to jail—or that I had been more responsible for the position we were in now than she was… Instead, I pulled her slightly closer, and fell asleep to the sound of her deep breathing, content and simply hoping that my dreams would not betray me.


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

A/N: Not all that eventful, but good things are coming! Thanks for the wonderful reviews! :)

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Chapter Nineteen:

I woke up slowly, but I knew immediately that she was there with me—no sleepy disorientation to make me forget, even momentarily, my surprising bedmate. She was no longer lying across my chest, but instead had curled up with her back to me, arms tightly around a pillow, silky hair splayed down the corner and onto my sheets like melting chocolate. I wanted to bury my face in it, and drink in her warmth. Her breathing was soft and slow and deep, her knees tucked up to her chest so that her lower back was revealed between my pajama pants and her shirt.

The delicately stretched skin was smooth and flawless—and there was an obvious tan line which I committed to memory… peach to tan. She must have had an impressive tan this past summer, if the line were still so distinct in March.

I realized with a pang of sadness that I had never seen her so relaxed—and on the tail of that thought was how childlike she looked. I felt guilty… almost twisted.

But then, she was not truly a child… had she not openly admitted to fantasizing about me…?

I shook my head. It was a moot point—I could not have her. ...Not physically, anyway.

But she had wanted friendship, and if I never touched her… then we would only be friends. I could actively spend time with her, date her, seduce her… as long as nothing ever came of it.

She stirred in her sleep, and I smiled, no doubt in my mind what I was going to do now. And when she rolled over, bleary-eyed and so god damned beautiful, I was so overwhelmed with my excitement and confidence that it was a struggle to tamp down those emotions and react properly to the situation.

"…Hey. I, uh… I'm really sorry, Sara, that… that this happened this way. I… we shouldn't have…"

And her eyes—previously unaware—snapped to attention in a moment and then she was sitting up, rubbing them adorably, looking alarmed. "No… don't… don't be sorry, Grissom."

"I… I feel like I'm taking advantage of you, Sara. You… you've admitted to… well, a schoolgirl's crush, of sorts, and… I need to be the responsible adult here. I… falling asleep in the same bed… even if it felt nice, to have a friend… I really just need to realize that… that you can't be a friend to me, in that way. Even if I want it. …It isn't fair to you."

Predictably, she shook her head frantically, but I could see her rolling my words around behind those eyes. She leaned forward, looking almost hopeful. "Grissom, I… I don't have a crush. I mean—not… not one you'd need to worry about. I… I can be a friend to you. Just a friend. …Sleeping together, it… it doesn't need to mean more than… than two friends drawing comfort from each other. It… you're not being unfair to me."

"Sara," I lightly scolded. "You've admitted to thinking about… me." She knew what I meant, and immediately went to work contradicting the pink in her cheeks.

"I did. But… but are you going to tell me that you've never had an errant sexual thought about a woman who was just a friend? Or… a co-worker, maybe? And it's a thought you would never dream of acting on… but it was there?"

I tilted my head, acknowledging that working with a woman like Catherine—and knowing the way she used to be able to bend—had resulted in one or two errant thoughts which I honestly didn't have any intention of acting on… ever. She saw that she had won and hugged me ecstatically.

"Oh, Grissom, you won't regret this! I promise I won't make it weird… that we'll just be friends."

I smile, genuinely pleased, both at how this had played out and at her earnestness. I brush her hair from her face, tucking it behind an ear, and the shiver that courses down her spine is ill-concealed, but I pretend not to notice. "Why don't we both get dressed? …Get something to eat?" I glanced at the clock and was startled to find we'd slept nearly the entire day. "In fact, we could split up and shower… have a real dinner, if… if you wanted? If I'm not… crossing any boundaries?"

She seemed giddy at the idea, and rushed to reassure me that it was only in pure friendliness that we would want to eat together, and that she wouldn't misinterpret my intentions. With another parting hug, she moved off to shower and change back into the clothes she'd arrived in in the guest bathroom, and I moved off to my own bathroom, washing quickly and then relieving an ache—because if I was around her all night, and in as close of proximity as I planned to be, I didn't need an erection giving me away.

Hopefully, taking care of it now would help with the physical presence of my desire for her.

Within the hour we were dressed and Sara had managed to mostly dry her hair—she'd been unable to style it, but it curled in sexy little ringlets around her face, and I found myself wondering why she ever tried to straighten or tame them. And then we moved down to my car, with my hand on the small of her back.

I decided to ease into my "dating" of Sara Sidle—I didn't take her to the fanciest or most romantic or most seductive of places. Instead, I took her to a bar and though she looked uncertain, I gave her a smile that seemed to melt the reluctance from her face. I pulled her inside and we ordered greasy food and cheap beer. They didn't card her, but then, I hadn't expected them to. We talked freely, laughed too loudly, and I only barely restrained myself from dragging her onto the dance floor.

True, it was a jukebox playing twangy country music and outdated love songs, and the wooden floor was warped and old, but it had a certain appeal. I resisted, however. The last thing I needed was someone putting it a fast song unexpectedly—I was only 32, but I knew her 17 year old moves would put me to shame. Especially since I'd never had a great interest in modern music.

When we danced, I wanted her to be swept off her feet, not pitying the awkward, uncoordinated old man.

And it seemed only natural that my arm remained around her as I led her back to the car. When I pulled onto campus and asked for directions to her new dorm room, she looked unhappy to have the night end. Which was perfect, because I felt miserably, and I wanted her to want to stay with me longer.

She smiled hesitantly and hugged me again, thanking me for dinner, before hurrying out of the car and rushing up to her doorway. She glanced back, waved a final time, and moved inside. I drew in a deep breath, watching the door for a moment before putting my car in drive and steering away from her building. I was sad to see her go, but happy—because I wasn't just saying that she was mine anymore… She really was now.


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

A/N: :) I don't know if I love where this chapter stopped, but I wanted to save their dinner for the next chapter.

Okay, also, look at my profile picture! It's my bunny! :)

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Chapter Twenty:

Class was back to normal—mostly. Sara had trouble avoiding Hank and Ken, but she did, coming to my office after class every day. We would leave shortly after, assuming I didn't have any work to do, and usually we would go to my place. We watched TV—and had a show for almost every night of the week that we looked forward to, and I would cook for us.

And when I found out she didn't know how to cook, I dragged her into my kitchen, tied the apron around her waist—relishing the blush I created—and began to go through some basic meals.

I made pasta that night—she was familiar with boiling water, but the marinara sauce was homemade. When we chopped vegetables, I hovered behind her, arms on either side, guiding her hands and the knife gently, speaking softly against her neck and her ear, eliciting giggles. We stirred the sauce, added spices, and I offered her a taste from the end of the wooden spoon, watching with greedy eyes at the pucker of her lips as she sipped it into her mouth, looking flushed and excited.

I felt a little flushed and excited too.

We ate happily, curled on my couch together, and I drove her home again.

I let this go on for a month—until the end of April was approaching. The Anthropology department wanted me to stay on for the fall semester as well, and so I made my arrangements with the lab, and leased my apartment for longer. I told her that I'd be staying in Boston through the summer and the next semester, and she was as happy as I expected her to be—she had been upset when I told her I wasn't sure if I'd be staying.

Like I could leave her now.

We had done a mock court room, and they'd all come dressed in suits, playing out the roles of CSI on the stand, lawyers on either side, jury, expert consultants… and then we discussed who we—when we had been jury members—we had believed and understood and trusted and how important it was to pass on that understanding to the jury.

Sara was in a black skirt and suit jacket, with a red tank top underneath… I thought I was going to have a heart attack, when she walked in, in heels, legs going on and on, and the low cut shirt clinging to her curves. Even if she hadn't planned to stay after today, I would find a way to detain her, just to remain in her presence. She was brilliant in every role—as a CSI on the stand, she was careful and precise, as an expert consultant she was measured and explanatory, as a prosecutor she was ruthless, as a defense attorney inspired, and as a juror unerringly fair.

She did stay, however, and without even discussing it, we left immediately to my apartment. As soon as I unlocked the door, she slipped off her heels and sprawled on my couch, happily, her nylon-clad feet up on my coffee table, her legs spread before me like a buffet, and I felt my mouth watering. I swallowed, closing the door, and she sighed.

"What're we having for supper tonight?"

It made me smile that such a thing was now assumed… that we spent nearly every night together, without question, and that I knew it was exactly where she wanted to be. Not only that, but if she was with me—where she belonged—I also knew that she wasn't out with anyone else.

"…Why don't we go out. There's a new place that opened downtown that I've been wanting to try." Wanting to try with Sara, specifically. She smiled.

"Are you sure? You know I can't really afford—"

"Of course I'm sure." I say, cutting her off, and then I nudge her. "Did you want to stay in your suit or stop at home to change before we go?"

She shrugged. "I can wear this out tonight, if I can change in the mean time…" I grinned and nodded, and she jumped up. "I'll get them, yeah?"

I nodded again, watching her rush off to my bedroom to get the ants pajama pants. I wondered if I shouldn't allow her such access to my personal space—wouldn't that make us more like equals?—but I was simply so happy to have her in my home, consistently and comfortably, that I didn't let it upset me. I was still in control—she wasn't seeing anyone else, and she wanted me.

I wasn't expecting what happened.

…She emerged from my bedroom, her smile flattened into a troubled little line, her eyes downcast, the pajama pants clutched in her hand but not on. I tilted my head in a question, and she looked torn, before it tumbled from her lips, much to her dismay. "Are you… Did you want me to… spend less time with you?"

My eyes widen and I sit up. "I… what? Of course not, Sara, why?"

"I just… I was thinking, that, you know… you don't really get to date. Because… because you're spending time with me."

I shake my head—this is coming from nowhere, but her change was so abrupt that I felt like it must have been brought on by something. I look into her eyes. "Sara… where is this coming from?"

"I…" She shook her head. "Nothing, Grissom, I just… I don't want to… hold you back." She looked like she was close to tears, and I was absolutely lost. I moved over to her, pulled her to my chest and she offered no resistance, curling against me and sniffling. I went over what had just happened.

She had gone to get pajama pants… she'd seen me pull them from the drawer before, so she would know that…

Shit. Shit, Fuck, Shit, Shit.

She would know they were in the center drawer, along with the box of condoms I had opened in Vegas and not even realized I'd packed and brought to Boston until I was unpacking… at which point I'd put them in a drawer and forgotten them.

I took a deep breath, playing this over in my head. If I told her I didn't want to be with anyone else and I hadn't used any of them since I'm met her, I gave her power. If I didn't defend myself… would she detach, pull away, distance herself, either for my sake or to protect her own heart? …I felt like I was having this constant issue of maintaining an unattainable balance.

I sighed, "Sara… was it… are you upset because of…" I close my eyes, almost wincing. "The condoms?"

She tensed, and then nodded stiffly against me. I pulled back from her, taking her hand and pulling her back with me, into my bedroom, and pulled out the box I hadn't given any attention since the previous year. I lifted it out and, as suspected, the expiration date was passed. I pointed to it, and handed it over, and her eyebrows creased in confusion.

I took it from her and emptied it—only one was missing.

"I… they're really old, Sara. I used one of the entire box, over a year ago. …You're not… keeping me from anything."

She looked up at me with a strange, thoughtful kind of intensity in her eyes, and I had to turn away—because I was certain she had been about to kiss me, despite her promises to not cross that line, and it couldn't be allowed. When I glanced back, her eyes were closed as if she was trying to get a grip on herself, and I tugged her gently into another hug.

"C'mon… we'll catch some TV before supper. Maybe take a nap on the couch…" I nudged her playfully and she gave a reluctant smile, moving with me and seeming more relaxed now, than when we had entered the bedroom.

I contemplated, while pretending to watch TV, my arms wrapped tightly around her, how this would end. Because I knew I would not be willing to give her up, ever. Could I be her friend, indefinitely, keeping her from everyone else and yet not acting on it? And if not, that implied that, at some point, I would give in…


	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

A/N: Okay. So this is a real restaurant, but I don't know if it exists in Boston or if it had existed way back when. And, I only had the dessert, when we were across the country for my nephew's baptism, so I'm kinda guessing (for those of you who may be experts at The Melting Pot.) And to understand a part near the end of the story, you need to know about their bathrooms. See, in the girl's bathroom, there's a sign that says "If he offers to share the last strawberry, he's into you." And in the men's, there was a sign that says "Offer to share the last strawberry with her." :) Which was far too funny not to incorporate.

Thanks for the reviews, keep them coming, yes?

Also, I wrote this in a hurry, so I didn't proof-read. Sorry.

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Chapter Twenty-One:

We did nap on the couch, and I woke up slowly, happily, my head on the arm of the couch with her spooned against me, her head on my right arm and my left wrapped around her waist tightly. I sighed softly, breathing in the scent of her hair, and let myself simply enjoy holding her until I felt her stirring. She moved into the bathroom to straighten her hair and skirt and I stretched lazily, calling the restaurant to ask whether they had a long wait—they didn't, which was lucky, because I'd been intending to make a reservation before our condom fight and subsequent spooning.

She emerged looking less than the perfectly pressed woman who had entered my classroom this morning, but still very nice… and I took a moment to take in her appearance before slipping past her to straighten my tousled curls and assess the wrinkles in my clothing—they were much worse than hers, but tolerable. No worse than had I spent the day sitting at my desk.

We left to the restaurant, conversing easily and holding hands as if it were meaningless, though it made me feel warm all over and left me feeling like I belonged to something.

The restaurant had recently opened, and it was a fondue restaurant. You had multiple courses, all of which you either dipped or cooked by dipping, at your table. She tilted her head as we stepped out of the car and walked towards it, side by side. "The Melting Pot?"

I smile, putting a hand to the small of her back. She gives me a confused look, but then we're stepping inside.

"Hello. Just the two of you tonight?" The hostess beamed at us.

I nod. "Yep."

"Alright…" She made a mark on something before her, and then gathered up two menus and an even brighter smile than she'd greeted us with. "If you wanna follow me…"

I add slight pressure against her back, moving Sara forward, and we follow the woman into an area that is sparingly occupied, even though the restaurant is mostly full, because all the tables here are small and intimate—meant for two. Sara blushed as she sat down, and I smiled. I hadn't planned this part, but I wasn't going to mess with serendipity.

She looked curiously at the burner on the table before us, complete with an empty basin. She looked confused.

"It's fondue. …They'll have a cheese course, a main course, and dessert."

She looked a little hesitant, and I smiled. "Never had fondue before?"

She shook her head slowly, looking embarrassed. I grin. "Don't worry, Sara, it's easy…"

She rolled her eyes at me and I laughed, and then the waitress found us and brought us drinks. She frowned down at her menu, and I grinned, asking if she had any preferences. She shook her head, and I smiled, ordering for us when our waitress returned, hoping she would like it anyway. The cheese course was fabulous—vegetables, bread, and a small cup of sliced green apples. It was placed before us, and Sara looked at me with wide eyes.

"I don't know what to do… do you… just stick it in there?"

I smirked at her choice of words, but refrained from making the joke. I picked up a skewer and dipped my bread in the melted cheese and then removed it, turning it until it seemed unlikely to drip, and then extended it to her. She didn't even seem surprised at this—I had fed her too many times, whether it was with chop sticks or for a taste test while cooking—so I strove to outdo myself while she leaned forward and took the bread into her mouth, chewing slowly.

"Mmm!" She groaned. "Oh, god, that's good." I chuckled, seeing the smallest smear of cheese on the side of her lip and leaned across the table, pressing my thumb gently to the corner of her mouth to remove it and then immediately bringing it back to my mouth.

Her mouth fell slightly open and she blushed again, and I was happy. She was used to being fed, perhaps, but not to that.

Next was the main meal—she had ordered chicken and I steak and while our skewers were in the pots, cooking in our flavored marinade of choice, I turned my eyes on her, contemplating. She blushed under my gaze. "…What?"

I shake my head slowly, and her eyes narrow. "Grissom… what is it?"

I avert my eyes slowly. "I just…" I make a face of reluctance and she lets out a sigh of exasperation.

"Grissom… tell me what's wrong!"

"Nothing's wrong, really, I just… I was thinking about… earlier. With the condoms."

She blushes. "Oh."

"You… you said you were worried you were holding me back, and now I wonder… am… Am I holding you back, Sara?"

Her eyes widened. "No! No, Grissom, I… remember what happened with Ken and Hank? I don't… I don't want to spend time with people my age."

I nod, slowly. "No, I… I remember, but… I don't know. I feel like you should be dating… like spending time with me will hinder that."

She shakes her head. "It's… it's just the opposite, Grissom. I… I don't have anyone I want to date, but… but I'm a lot more likely to now than I was before we were friends."

I raise an eyebrow. I had thought to put her on uneven footing again, make her feel less confident in the permanence of our arrangement, but I didn't want believe that I was truly helping her date other men. Had she said that to reassure me, or had she meant it. "…How so?"

She blushes again. "Well, I… I didn't even know, you know… how a date was supposed to go, before you. I… I've only kissed a couple of boys, so I… I'm probably not even going to be good at that, and then…" She looked at the table. "I'll be hopeless when it comes to sex."

I shake my head, and take her hand. "No, honey. No you won't."

She shakes her head too. "That's nice of you, Grissom, but… really… when I was in high school, my foster parents were these crazy conservatives. They didn't believe in teaching sex education in school, so I was never in a health class, but they wouldn't teach me anything about it at home, either… they monitored the books I was reading and everything. My… my knowledge of sex comes from trashy romance novels, my anatomy book, and you…"

My eyebrows are up to my forehead. "Well, surely, the anatomy class…"

"They didn't cover anything in depth, because they said everyone had had a health class. They were far more concerned with the rest of the body…"

I narrow my eyes. "So, you… you don't even know your own anatomy?"

She blushes. "Well, I mean… I have a basic idea. I think." The corner of my mouth turns up, but it's not in a smile. "Anyway, so… I mean… I wouldn't have the slightest idea what to… do or… what to expect. I… it's a problem."

I frown, but she shakes her head again, wanting to end the discussion. "Anyway, uh… I think our food is probably done." She pulled her skewers out, and I allowed the subject change, pulling my own out. We finished the meal in relative silence while I debated with myself.

For her own well-being, I adamantly believed it was knowledge she needed to have. But keeping her in the dark kept her from other men. But just the conversation itself could be another part of my seduction, couldn't it? But keeping her in the dark kept her from other men.

I sighed in frustration as our plates were taken away and the waitress asked if we were in the mood for dessert. I nodded absently and allowed Sara to choose this time—chocolate and caramel—and then there was an awkward silence. Sara let it go on for about a minute, before breaking it.

"I, uh… I think I'm gonna run to the bathroom…"

I nodded absently, and the tray of fruit and cakes was brought out while she was gone. I steeled myself, forcing myself to make the rest of the night run smoothly. I didn't want her to be so uncomfortable that she couldn't speak. I smiled when she returned to table and gestured to the plate before us.

"This is right up your alley—fruit and chocolate."

She smiled softly, and we happily picked up conversation again about her fast-approaching finals while dipping our desserts. By the time we'd made it through the brownies, cheese cake, and marshmallows we were laughing and relaxed, and then we each speared our Rice Krispie Treat simultaneously and dipped it, a comfortable silence taking the place of the old.

The only thing left were bananas and strawberries—she speared her two of each like a shish kabob and dipped the entire thing, while I ate each of mine one by one… leaving only a single strawberry left on the plate. I smiled, gesturing to it. "Do you want to split the last strawberry?"

She beamed. Like, over the top, looked at me like I'd proposed to her, beamed. "I… yes."

I was moderately confused, but disregarded it, cutting the strawberry in half and we each proceeded to eat it slowly. The bill arrived and I paid, and though she frowned, she didn't even protest anymore. And then I led her back out to the car, with my mind set. Tonight, I would be giving Sara some sex education.


	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: I do not own.

A/N: Ahem. So... I got a little more graphic in this chapter than I meant to. ...Which isn't necessarily bad, but it isn't graphic about sex, but about... not sex. Which for some reason, makes me more uncomfortable than graphic sex. ...So, I might not be alone in that, and this is my fair warning.

Although, this chapter will make some of you very happy.

I didn't have time to proof-read, so I didn't. :) Sorry about that.

Reviews?

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Chapter Twenty-Two:

Sara leaned back in her seat as soon as we got into my car, exhaling in a rush. "Oh, I am so full. …That was amazing."

I smile, backing out of our parking space and pulling into the moderate traffic with a few perfunctory glances at the mirrors. "I'm glad you liked it."

She rolled her head to the side to look at me—an action that reminded me so strongly of something one might do in bed that I needed to grip the steering wheel just a little tighter—and let a lazy smile cover her face. "Thank you, Grissom."

I glance between her and the road again. "…You're welcome. …For what?"

She let the corner of her mouth lift in a half-smile. "For… dinner. For… for your friendship. I… I don't know what I would've done without you this year."

I feel myself suddenly both extremely happy and extremely guilty. She was thanking me for what I'd done for her, and yet, if I did not desire her… desire to possess her… would I have done any of those things? Certainly, I would never had turned her away if she'd walked to my home after almost being assaulted—but she wouldn't have known where I lived if it weren't for my ulterior motives. I would have advised any student to get out of the roommate situation she was in, but I might never have heard about it… and my friendship…

Even though I cared about her deeply, I doubt anyone could define the way I'd treated her and manipulated her as friendly.

I swallowed hard, looking attentively at the road. "Thank you for your friendship, Sara. I… I think you did more to help me forget all the things I'd seen in Vegas than anything else combined could have."

She beamed, and was about to speak, but then sat up, looking around. We had just passed the turn to take her to her dorm. "We're… going back to your place?" She sounds rather hopeful. I mentally cringe at this knowledge, but nod impassively.

"Yeah, if… if that's okay."

Her eyes were wide. "Yeah… of… of course it's okay."

I nod, and the rest of the way home is endured mostly in silence, though I don't know for certain why we felt so awkward. I knew that my discomfort came in part from my resolution to teach her what I felt she needed to know, because I simultaneously wanted to have the conversation, not for her own good but to yet again draw her in, and to not have the conversation, because it would facilitate her success with other men.

But I felt she needed to know. Despite my unethical approach to our relationship, I genuinely cared about her.

I parked, and led her inside with my hand to the small of her back once more. Through the door, she immediately slipped out of her heels and headed for my bedroom—where she'd left the pajama pants she hadn't managed to put on earlier, due to the discovery of my condoms. I sighed and slipped out of my own shoes, waiting for her to come out before excusing myself to change into pajamas too—which made her raise an eyebrow. Did I intend for her to spend the night?

I could drive her home in pajamas, if I needed to, but I was hoping that she would at least sleep in the guest room, if not in bed with me. I couldn't let it happen often, but every once and a while… I really wanted her close to me during the night.

When I returned, I pulled my own anatomy book from my book shelf and gestured that she should come to sit with me at the breakfast bar. She looked confused, but obeyed, but then flushed at the sight of the book.

"Oh, Grissom… No, I… I don't need…"

"Yes, Sara, you do. …Since I've met you, we've talked about just about everything—there's no reason in the world this should make you uncomfortable. …Okay?"

She pursed her lips, but she nodded, and I flipped the book open, paging forward until I found the reproductive organs. I slid the book over to her and she shook her head. "Grissom, I've seen diagrams like this, really… I know where babies come from and all of that."

I roll my eyes. "Right, where they come from, but not the process by which they're created. …There's more to sex than anatomy, and more to anatomy than diagrams. This is just a jumping off point…"

She raises her eyebrows, but nods, and I clear my throat. "I assume you know the basic… parts?"

She blushed. "I… I think so."

"Do you know where you clitoris is?" I say, in my best attempt at being matter-of-fact.

She cringed. "_Yes._"

"Your G-spot?"

"Ye—what?"

I smile. "Your G-spot?"

She bit her bottom lip. "I wanna say I've heard the phrase…"

I have to work to refrain from laughing. "Okay, well, I assume you've… had your fingers… inside yourself?"

She blushes again, and I urge through it, explaining the feel and location of the particular area, using the diagram, and by the time I'm done, she looks a little more like she usually does in class. It isn't the same—I don't think it could be—but it was closer than it had been a second ago. She wasn't blushing nearly as much, and she looked… eager to learn.

The thought alone had me feeling warmer.

"Now, your first orgasm—I've told you before that it's the hardest… part of that is because clitoral stimulation can sometimes make women feel like they need to urinate, but you won't."

She looks wide-eyed—horror-struck, almost. "That sounds… mortifying."

I smile gently, but continue. "It won't be, because it won't happen… but it can be frustrating. Now—arousal and foreplay are not strictly physical. I would even go so far as to suggest that, for women especially, they're mental and emotional. Excitement, like in a first encounter, will enhance arousal… and someone you're not attracted to touching you isn't going to do much for you. The most important thing for you, your first time, is that you want to be… well, …wet."

She buried her face in her hands, and I laid a gentle palm on her shoulder, not forcing her head up, but offering comfort before continuing.

"If the person you're with doesn't know that you're a virgin… hopefully they won't be lacking in foreplay, but if they are—try to draw it out. An easy way to communicate what you want, without asking for it, is to do it yourself—tease him, or… dry humping… and he'll reciprocate."

"…I, uh… I don't know how to tease. I don't know how to dry hump. I can barely kiss!"

I shake my head. "That's why we're doing this… ask me anything, honey."

She blushed and looked away, uncomfortable, so I pressed on myself. "Teasing would be—basically just touching and kissing the body in a way that makes him think you're going to do something, but not doing it yet. There are a few basic erogenous zones…" I paused, and pointed them out on the full-body diagram in the book. "Everyone is different, but most of these are common to everyone. The better you know the person you're intimate, the more you'll learn their particular preferences and… well, how they want you to touch them."

She looked distraught now. "But Grissom, I… I _don't_ know how to touch them!"

I frowned a little, and glanced around in hopes that I would conveniently have a phallic-shaped object in reach, but as none presented itself, I reached for her hand and positioned two of her fingers pointing out. Her eyes widened as I wrapped my own hands around them gently, meeting her eyes. I gestured movements—stroking, thumbing pre-ejaculate across the head, told her about especially sensitive areas—and I doubt I'd ever seen her face so red, but she watched with rapt attention.

And then, I offered her my own two fingers… she hesitated, briefly, but wrapped her long, slim, delicate fingers around them and stroked experimentally—good lord, I could have died—trying to duplicate what I had done, and looking up at me imploringly, as if to ask if she was doing it right. And she was—she was a quick study, and I couldn't help but imagine exactly how those fingers would feel on me.

She dropped her hand, flushed and breathless and shook her head. "You know, Grissom, I… strangely appreciate this, no matter how… embarrassing. But… really, I doubt it's going to be an issue. …Guys just don't… find me attractive."

My head jerked back in surprise. "What?!"

She shrugged, awkwardly, standing and drifting lethargically over to the couch. "I just… I don't think they see me as… desirable."

I raised an eyebrow, following her over. "That's crazy, Sara. Think of Hank, and Ken, and… the asshole who tried to touch you in your old dorm room. Honey, anyone would be crazy not to desire you."

She wrung her hands in her lap. "I… Grissom?" I nodded, slowly, and she exhaled anxiously. "You… you said I could ask you anything?"

"Of course, Sara. Anything…"

"Do you?"

I blink. "Do I what?"

"…Desire me."

I drew in a deep breath. "Sara…" I began, in my typical scolding voice, willing her to not push this too far, about to warn her about her age again. But she beat me to it.

"I know that I'm seventeen. I know that. But… but, if I weren't, Grissom… if I were… eighteen and… not your student, and… just on a… purely physical level… Do you desire me?"

I swallowed hard. And though I hesitated to begin, the end of my answer was firm. "…Yes." Definitive. Her eyes lit up. "But you _are_ seventeen, and you _are_ my student."

I nearly jumped out of my skin—she had just put her hand on my leg. "Okay… so we won't go there. But, you know… I could… practice, again… for real."

I felt lightheaded. Good lord, she wanted to put her hands on me. She was trying to convince me… but no. No. _No._ No matter how hard I was all of a sudden—or how clear it must be in my pajama pants—I couldn't do it. It would ruin everything… and then I would lose her.

Having her was more important than fucking her.

I shook my head. "Sara, honey…" Her hand slid up my thigh, and I trembled violently.

"Please," she breathed, voice urgent and soft and breathy. "Grissom, I… it wouldn't mean anything. We'd still just be friends, but you could… teach me."

I wanted to give in. I wanted it more than anything, more than anything I had possibly ever wanted.

"I'm sorry, Sara. …I'll take you home, if you want… Otherwise, I… I think you should sleep in the guest bedroom tonight."

I started to get up, but she caught my hand. "Are you… mad at me now? Grissom, I'm… I'm sorry. I don't want this to ruin things…"

I shook my head slowly and leaned closer to her, placing my hands on either side of her face. "No, honey… I… I don't want to push you away, but… if you stay with me tonight, I won't… be able to say no again."

"Then don't." She was so earnest. I shook my head, feeling the need to assert my control again—not only to be the one in charge, but because if I let her keep going, I would break.

"Sara." My voice was stern—too stern, and she looked taken aback and even hurt at the tone. "I… can't. And I won't. …I'll see you in the morning. Good Night."

I stood and moved—too quickly to seem unconcerned, but I'd probably blown that ruse already anyway—to my bedroom, locking my door once I got there. If she came in to convince me, I would never let her leave.


	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: I just wanted to take a minute to thank everyone for the glowing reviews--really, they're always appreciated, but they were overwhelming this time. It really made my day. :)

Hope you enjoy, and review again, please?

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Three:

_We were out on my couch, her hand on my leg, and once again, she was saying please. The moment was so real, so clearly similar to what had just taken place, that for the first time since I'd started dreaming about Sara, I wasn't sure if I was dreaming after all. But after I directed myself to stand… to pull away—a first in dreams—and I did not move… could not move myself from her… I knew. I knew and I reveled in it, because there were no consequences in dreams. _

_I put my hands to either side of her face again, but instead of gently telling her that I won't b able to stop, I start—I lean in, capturing her lips and shuddering as her tiny, pink tongue flicked against mine as if it knew exactly how enticing such an act would be. But then again, maybe it did… Sara had been quite the seductress earlier tonight. _

_There's no time for contemplation, however, because her hands and hot and heavy against my chest, pressing, pressing, pressing, until I am on my back and they're fumbling with my belt—fumbling because she's nervous, yet she doesn't hesitate. For some reason—perhaps because it's so like reality—I feel the need to attempt to stop the encounter. "…Sara…"_

_And then her face was above mine again, looking frightened and aroused but unyielding. The belt came loose. "…Teach me how to touch you."_

_This was no request, and though I opened my mouth to argue, the only thing it released was a desperate, lost "…yes." Yes, I would teach her anything, I would deny her nothing. And then my pants were being tugged off my ankles and I felt—another first—slight embarrassment. I had never been self-conscious in my dreams about Sara, because she was so devoted to me that she would never think me anything but perfect. But now… now I worried. _

_Her eyes did not show hesitation—they showed hunger, and then those long fingers were pressing, pressing again, down my body, and a shuddering gasp was ripped from my lips in agony as she wrapped her cool hands around me, throbbing and hot. Her eyelids fluttered, as if the mere contact was causing her ecstasy, and then she slowly began to stroke me. _

_Though she had asked me to teach her, she needed no teaching—her touch was light and uncertain, but perfect… and before she had even begun to build up a rhythm, I was gripping the couch beneath me, fighting off my impending orgasm. I grit my teeth, clenched my fists, curled my toes up tightly—anything to prolong the experience and stave off the inevitable. _

_But this buys me minutes, at best, with my eyes clenched tightly because the sight of her would be too much, and then I'm hurtling forward, towards the brink, I'm so close, and she's—_

I opened my eyes aware of two things: my door had just swung open, and I was so hard that it hurt.

"Sara?" I muttered sleepily, bleary-eyed and uncertain. My heart was racing and I was sweating and throbbing. I didn't dare reach a hand down to sooth the ache with her there, but it was tempting. The door closed slowly and the sound of bare feet padding closer was clear.

"I… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"What's wrong?" I ask, half-concerned and half-unaware. She smiles.

"I… couldn't sleep. And… I wanted to apologize."

She climbed lithely onto my bed, into the space I had begun calling her side, in my mind, though I could count the number of times she had slept there on one hand. She laid down on her side, head supported on hand, and exhaled in a huff. "I… I crossed a line, Grissom, and I know that. I… I know that you're already taking a huge risk just being friends with me and, I…"

She shifted her lips side to side—barely visible in the darkness—as if uncertain of how to phrase her thoughts. Absently, she tugged on the blankets to cover herself, and from the way I'd managed to twist them during my dream, she ended up pulling them off me entirely in the process. Exposing a proud little tent I had been attempting to conceal subtly in the covers. Her eyes flickered to it, and though I couldn't see her face change color, I knew she was a delicious shade of red right now.

I raised a leg to obscure it—though what was the point now?—"It's okay, Sara, really. Nothing… happened, so… it's fine."

Her eyes flickered down again, and I didn't know whether to be aroused or impatient with her one-track mind. "I, um… Okay. …Are you sure?"

I blinked. "…Am I sure that it's okay?"

She smiled, "No, are you… are you sure that… you can't teach me? I… I know it crosses all kinds of boundaries, but…"

"But nothing, Sara. You're a child, Sara."

She narrowed her eyes. "A child?"

I strove to correct myself without giving her another opening. "As far as the law is concerned."

"The legal age of consent in Massachusetts is sixteen." Good lord. She had gone so far as to check the law.

I blink again. "Unless you're a virgin, which you are. Also, you're my student."

"…What?"

"'Whoever induces any person under 18 years of age of chaste life to have unlawful sexual intercourse shall be punished.'" I quoted, having read the law myself, and she scowled.

"I'll induce you then…"

Her hand came in contact with my chest, but I caught it firmly in my hand before it could wander more than a few inches downwards. "Sara." I used my stern voice again. "We just did a mock trial today… I'm a CSI. If I sleep with a student, over or under the age of consent, regardless of who is inducing whom, it throws my character into question. To throw my character into question would be to throw every testimony I've ever given and all evidence I've ever collected into question, because there is an element of trust communities place in us that I would have broken."

She opened her mouth to argue, but I hurried on, not giving her the chance. "It may not be right, I know, Sara… but it's the reality of the system, and… and I'm not willing to let every murderer, rapist, pedophile, and abuser that I've helped to put away have a second chance at freedom they don't deserve just because I can't exercise a little self-control."

She looked like she wanted to cry, and I sighed softly, placing my hand to her cheek once again. "Sara, honey…" She wouldn't look at me. "…Sara? …Sara, please." Nothing.

"…Sar-bear." Her eyes flickered up in alarm, and I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "You are an amazing, beautiful girl, and I am honestly lucky to have your interest… but the public will only see a man in his thirties seducing his under-aged student, and honey… if I let this happen, they'd be right."

She squeezed her eyes shut tightly and swallowed hard. "Could you… hold me then? I promise, I won't do anything…"

I smile. "Of course, honey." She surprised me by rolling over, leaving her back to me, but I took it in stride and slid up behind her—keeping my hips a ways back—and held her close. After a moment of obvious frustration, she slid her backside backwards, until it came in contact with my hips and my erection. I groaned softly against her, but managed another chiding "Sara…"

She shook her head slowly. "Please… just let me feel you. …If I can't touch you, and I… can't have you… please let me just feel you."

I hesitated, but really, who was I kidding?


	24. Chapter 24

Disclaimer: I do not own them.

A/N: Okay! Sorry for the long break between updates. However, I have the whole rest of the story planned out (I was undecided how I wanted this to end...) so updates should come more regularly because I'll always know what I'm writing, mostly. :) Sooo, with any luck, we'll have more than one update for this today.

And since I have no new stories floating around in my head right now, there's every chance that finishing this one up (I don't think we're close yet, don't worry) will mean I'll actually finish my other WIPs. :)

Thanks for all the wonderful reviews, they're totally motivating! Hehe. More please?

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Four:

Sara slept—I did not.

At six a.m. I disentangled myself from her, gathered clean clothes, and went and showered and changed. She was still asleep when I exited the bathroom, so with a glance at her beautiful sleeping form, I moved out of the room and into my kitchen, starting coffee simply for something to do.

My mind had been racing all night—things were going in a direction that I wasn't okay with and couldn't control. If things kept up this way, I would give in, and everything would be lost. I tried to reassess where I had pictured this going in the long-run, because I had avoided thinking so far in the future, but I had always had the basic skeleton of a plan. I would keep her at a safe distance, needing me but not truly having me, at least until she was out of school…

And then what? I had considered a relationship, but if it occurred, it would have to be a farce of the real thing. We might progress beyond sex to real tenderness and expressions of affection—but the power balance between us could never be equal, or she could leave me. Not just could—would. I knew this, and I had planned accordingly.

Maybe once she graduated we'd live together—as roommates, of course—and it would progress into a sexual relationship. Maybe I'd get her a job at the lab and we would see each other daily, and I would be able to exert my influence over her even without the sex. Maybe we would even get married, if I thought I could continue to control her through matrimony.

But right now—I needed to find a way to back off, at least for the next three years. Or, at least as long as I was her teacher. She had finals the following week, and then it would be summer… and then what? No classes to break up our schedules, and Sara would need to get herself an apartment and move… buy furniture, maybe even look into a better transportation plan. Which would mean she'd get a job, but I would have the summer free, which would mean that we'd still be together even more than we were now.

I poured myself a cup of coffee, contemplating the problem, and thought that perhaps—no matter how painful—I had come up with a solution.

I drove Sara home that morning, and presented myself with no awkwardness. I was smiling and close, still touching her hand and her hair and the small of her back in small affectionate gestures, and she seemed to relax, feeling that there would be no adverse consequences to her actions the night before. She gave me a hug, saying that she had finals the following week and so we probably wouldn't see each other much until they were over, and I squeezed her, telling her I understood and good luck.

And when I returned home, I worked out the details.

My final was on the Friday of finals week, so I was fairly certain that it was her last test. She was an 'S' so she was near the end of the group. They all sat outside my office and one-by-one I would call them inside to walk me through a ten minute crime scene—that was the final. One meeting of gazes told her I was leaving her 'til last, and that she understood and expected it. Most of my students did very well, only forgetting a few details or protocols. And then Sara came in, and I grinned at her.

"There's no one left outside, is there?"

"No." She looked at me quizzically.

"I was thinking—if you wanted—we could do a harder crime scene. I… the generic ten-minute scenes I did for everyone else… you could have solved them in the first six weeks. I… thought maybe you'd like to be challenged for a change."

Her eyes lit up—and I guided her through not one crime scene but three. A serial. It took her almost a half an hour, in part because it was more difficult and in part because she had far more evidence to explore and process, but she was unerring. Even when I made her go back to the scene for a new angle, she was precise and perfect. If I could have kissed her, I would have.

I thanked her at the end of the final, and her smile told me she knew how well she'd done, and then she hesitated in the doorway. I gestured to it and she opened the door, glancing out to make sure we were alone before reclosing the portal.

"Dinner tonight?"

She beamed. "I'm in the mood for Mexican."

I chuckle. "Five o'clock?"

"I'll be waiting."

She left the room and I frowned. The exchange had been far more date-like than any of my other dinner invitations, but I was fairly sure she wouldn't misinterpret, all things considered. And anyway, I had news for her tonight that wouldn't make her very happy. In truth, it didn't make me happy… but I felt like it was necessary, and also convenient for her.

I was outside her dorm at 4:55, but she was ready, and rushed out to me. Black pants, white button down open over a sky blue tank top, with minimal cleavage. She'd described this as her date outfit, and I inwardly groaned. Did she think that I wouldn't notice? …Then again, she'd been studying for a week and a half. She was probably getting low on clean clothes.

She slid into my vehicle with a grin, which I returned, driving us to a Mexican restaurant with butterflies in my stomach. I didn't want tonight to come—didn't want to have this conversation—but it was necessary. To possess Sara in the long run, I had to go.

We were seated, sat down, ordered… like everything was the same. I listened to her discuss her various finals and meeting with her advisor to put her in more forensics classes next semester, because she was starting to think she didn't want to be a physics teacher after all, letting her fill the conversation until the meal was ending.

Our waitress returned to ask about dessert, which we declined, and once I had been given the check and placed it on the other side of the table so she would not think we were done with it, I cleared my throat. Sara glanced up at me expectantly and I sighed heavily.

"I, uh… I need to talk to you."

She narrowed her eyebrows, and looked deeply concerned. I wanted to smooth the worry lines from her forehead and reassure her, but what could I say?

"I, um… I'm going to spend the summer with my mother."

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Your… mother? Are you… Is she… okay?"

I nod, slowly. "Yes, she's… she's fine. I…" I swallowed, deciding to be mostly honest with her. "Sara, honey, I… I don't think that… if I stay here, all summer, that… that nothing inappropriate will happen between us. I…" I didn't look at her, but I could feel the hurt in her eyes and her delicate little mouth opening to protest. "I know this won't make you happy… I'm not really happy about it either, but… it's best, for both of us."

She looked like words had failed her. I cleared my throat again.

"I, uh… I want you to live in my apartment and keep my car, for the summer… so you don't have to work. You've worked so hard this semester, and… I want you to have some time off. And I'll go spend some time with my mother, which will make her ecstatic, and… and we'll write letters and talk on the phone, sometimes. I'll have the bills forwarded to my mother's for the summer, so you… you don't need to worry about anything except food. You have some excess aid, right? You'll be okay…?"

Her eyes were wide and her mouth gaped. She nodded and then shook her head.

"Grissom…" Her eyes were full of tears and accusations of betrayal, and I felt them deep in my chest. "I… I have aid, but… I won't be okay. …Not without you."

I shake my head slowly. "That's the problem. …Who knows? Maybe you'll meet some great guy over the summer and you… you won't even want me to come back. Maybe next semester we'll just be teacher and student."

Tears slid down her cheeks. "I… Is that what you want?"

"To be just teacher and student?" She nodded. I sighed deeply. "No. …No, I… I want much more than that. But until you graduate… the most we can be is friends and… and for your own well-being, it… it's probably better if we were only teacher and student, but… I told you I wouldn't send you away, and… I won't. …It would hurt me too much too."

She shook her head, but her eyes told me she already knew my decision was final. She spent the night again, and we spent the next day moving her possessions into my car. I unloaded them while she cleaned her dorm room with the new roommate who had rarely been there, and then picked her up. She insisted on putting her clothing in the guest bedroom even as I was clearing out the master, because she said that if I came to visit I needed a room.

I told her it was wishful thinking, and she nodded, but didn't move her things all the same.

Three days later she drove me to the airport, tears sliding down her cheeks again, my car keys in her pocket. She hugged me tightly, as if she were losing herself in losing me, and impulsively brushed a soft kiss against my lips. There was hardly any pressure, and so I knew my lips were wet with her tears. I sighed and pulled her back against me, kissing her once more with just slightly more pressure, and she whimpered and slumped against me at the act…

I pulled away, hugged her again and told her I would miss her… and boarded my flight.


	25. Chapter 25

Disclaimer: I do not own them.

A/N: Since I was so nice and updated as soon as I was done, rather than waiting for reviews, that means I should get a review for each chapter from you wonderfully spoiled readers, yes? ...Or, at least, one long one? Maybe? Pretty peas?

Hope you enjoy!

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Chapter Twenty-Five:

May 24th, 1989

Dear Sara,

I know that you're probably finding this just as you're returning home and that there's every possibility I'm not even out of the Boston area yet, but I wanted to leave something behind for you.

I feel as though you think I've betrayed you, and I want you to know that this was never my intention. I felt that leaving was the only way to keep both of us from making a mistake that would have consequences more far-reaching than either of us are prepared to deal with at this point. I want you to know that I care about you deeply, and that I did not make this decision to hurt you.

I know I'm taking care of everything except food and gas, but I know that you're not working, and that your excess aid is meant to help with school-related things. If you need any help, please don't hesitate to ask. You should have found a thousand in this envelope—if not, be concerned, I left it in cash because I doubted that you would take it if I wrote out a check.

…I hope you have a good summer, and I hope you know that I can't wait to see you again, but on the whole it is far healthier for you if you forget about me—I'm too old for you, Sara, and we both know you deserve someone young and vital and attractive to occupy your time. Selfishly, I can hear you arguing with me even as I write this, and I hope it's not simple flattery, but it ought to be.

Take Care, Sara.

Grissom

May 31st, 1989

Grissom,

_This is the fourth time I've attempted to write this letter. The three others are crumpled on the floor behind me, covered in tears and obscenities and pleadings, respectively. I can't decide whether I'm angry with you for leaving, but I try not to be because I know your reasons were absurdly noble. _

_Noble or not, it was still hurtful. _

_I refuse to acknowledge your foolish idea that I will meet someone else and I refuse to acknowledge that it's really what you want for me, because it isn't. You want to be with me and much I want to be with you—and I think we both know how fervently I desire such a thing. But I respect your concern and your decision… You just simply have to know that it will be a waiting game instead. I will not meet anyone. I have no desire to even try. _

_Boston isn't the same without you—I'm thinking of getting a job, just part time, on the weekends, simply because I'm bored. The library's selection on romance novels is surprisingly lacking for such a large city, and so I will need to purchase a good deal of my own to keep me entertained and not missing you quite so much. (Here, I know, is when you would get that strange smirk on your face and your eyes would dance mischievously, but no matter how I play it out in my mind, I can't predict whether you would provoke or admonish me. I know that my blush will give me away, as it does every time, because it is burning my cheeks as I pen this.)_

_I hope that Marina del Ray is good, and that your mother is good, and that… that you're happy. I find myself hoping that each and every day. …I'm going to send this letter now, before I lose my courage and crumple it up with the others. _

_I miss you._

_Sara_

June 6th, 1989

Dear Sara,

You certainly are braver in writing than in speech. I don't know whether to be delighted or alarmed—but simply that I might be delighted tells me that I've done the correct thing in leaving you. I'm still sorry, and I miss you too.

My mother is good. She seems excited to have me here, but her eyes tell me she knows that I'm not myself, which is disturbing. Once you've been away from home for enough years, you forget how well you mother actually knows you, I guess. When I think of telling her that I miss a seventeen year old student, this too firms my resolve.

In fact, the idea of explaining such a thing to my mother is about the only thing keeping me from jumping on a plane back to Boston.

I hope that you like whatever job you choose, though I hope you don't work too hard. You'll have to tell me about your romance novels. I too have been spending a good deal of time reading—any time I'm in a bookstore and pass the romance section I think of one of the very first things you ever told me—you liked to read romance novels in bubble baths. The thought of which, understandably, is overwhelming.

…Apparently I'm braver in writing as well. I hope that you're happy, Sara, and that Boston is treating you well. I imagine you spending days at the beach, soaked in sun and surf and engrossed in that literal pornography you like to call literature, and I feel an achy sort of longing to be there with you. I find myself walking aimlessly down the beaches here, the sun not bright enough, the waves not blue enough, and the entire scene to be fundamentally lacking.

…I miss you more than you can know.

Grissom

_June 14th, 1989_

_Grissom, _

_Perhaps I will have to write a romance novel, because none of the ones I have found seem to satisfy the way a single afternoon has with you. I find myself curling up in your ants pajama pants in your bed, pretending I can still smell you on the sheets though by the now the smell has long since dissipated, and imagining my novel. _

_I'm thinking… a sexy, bookish entomology professor with eyes bluer than the oceans and salt and pepper curls that are enough to jump start puberty in preteens is exploring a beach in somewhere exotic and beautiful—Hawaii is too cliché. Somewhere in Australia, maybe, or the Caribbean. Maybe a remote virgin island. _

_He chances upon a much younger woman, who is by no means extraordinary, but for some reason, he befriends her. She's lounged on the beach, just her toes in the surf, her curls sprawled above her head on the white sand, and everything about them is warm. _

_There are days spent swimming and sailing and snorkeling, and nights of walking on the beach and visiting the local night life on the island… as friends, of course. He tells her all about how he needed to get away from the things he sees every day working as a CSI, and she tells him she needed to escape the entire world she'd known before. _

_And somehow, in looking to escape from everything, instead they find something they don't want to escape from… _

_…Well, anyway, that's how I imagine it. Maybe it's been done though, I don't know… Boston is still just boring without you. The job isn't bad—I clean an office building for a few hours Friday, Saturday, and Sunday nights. They already gave me a raise—saying nobody cleans the way I do. That would be my neuroticism showing, but then, you already know about that. _

_…I feel like there's so little to tell you, because there isn't anything here without you. I hope things are better in—No, that's a lie. I don't. I hope you're miserable without me too. _

_Yours, _

_Sara_

June 23rd, 1989

Sara,

I liked the romance novel—you had me sitting on the beach here, imagining all of those scenarios. I knew exactly how the entomologist would pull the young girl to him to dance while exploring said-night life. And how both parties would drink a little too much and have a tough time not starting something… but up to that point they've been just friends, and they end up holding back. I picture the days in the surf, and the young girl in bikinis so scanty that it's a wonder they're not illegal, and the perfect shape of every inch of her.

I wonder why the author describes her as plain and the entomologist as striking. She is a young and rare beauty, and the man pale and bookish rather softer around the middle than most romance novels would call for. Still, I revel in the walks on the beach and the shared smiles that mean nothing and yet something, and I find myself wondering how their romance will come about.

Because he isn't her teacher, and she isn't his student, and god-willing, she's probably eighteen…

And then I get a grip on myself, and realize the impropriety of it all.

I'm glad that you like the job. I wish I had as much to occupy myself—although I've been volunteering at my mother's gallery. I wonder whether I've ever shown you anything she's painted—she's amazing with acrylics. I've kind of become an un-official guide, simply because I remember just about everything my mother has told me about each piece. I think I make some people uncomfortable, however—they don't appreciate me adding cultural references to the tour.

There was a piece that was blatantly sensual, although not downright sexual… and the couple I was guiding would probably have preferred I not give a background on what was 'normal' sexually speaking, across cultures. My mother finds it amusing. …You would like her a lot.

I miss you, Sara, each and every moment of every day.

Grissom

_July 1st, 1989_

_Grissom,_

_I think you're far too nice to the young girl. And yes, in my story, she is eighteen. By the way, the author has seen the entomologist in only a towel—there is no softening around the middle, thank you very much. You said you wondered at the beginning of their relationship, and I struggle with that. In a lot of ways I think their tentative natures mean that a chaste kiss on one of their moonlight strolls with the waves crashing behind them and exotic insects singing from the surrounding vegetation is more likely… but then my mind plays with the idea of a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing._

_I see the dancing you described, and the alcohol making them braver, and their reluctance to leave each other at the end of the night, especially when they've spent hours pressing firmly together, sweating and touching and moving. I see one thing leading to another, and by the time they reach the bedroom and stop to assess whether they should or shouldn't, there's no real chance that they'll stop themselves. _

_I picture them seeing each other for the first time… but then the lights going out, so that the entire experience is sensory—touch, taste, sound and smell. He smells like aftershave and masculinity and she like tequila and strawberries. They taste salty and sweet, and feel soft and enticing—electricity in their fingertips as they explore one another. The sounds, however, are the best—whispered words of devotion, soft sounds of longing and bliss. _

_But although I play scenes like this out in my mind over and over, I think there's a certain appeal to the slow and steady approach. You were the one who told me the build-up was important, right?_

_They're shooting off fireworks on the beach on the fourth, so I'll probably go to that. Other than that, I don't have anything new going on… starting to think about school and going back. …Mostly about you coming back. Will you be doing anything exciting over the fourth? I hope you'll look at the fireworks and think of me. _

_Yours,_

_Sara_

July 10th, 1989

Sara,

I watched fireworks on the fourth with my mother. I didn't receive your letter until afterwards, but I had thought of you anyway, so it's okay. I hope you enjoyed yourself. I've been thinking more and more about school as well… I'm supposed to be back in the office in the beginning of August—the 9th or 10th, I believe—so there's only about another month of this separation. I thought maybe I'd fly in a few days early and help you look for an apartment, and then I can help you move, after work, before school starts.

I'll let you know my flight information, when I have it, and if you don't mind, I was hoping you could pick me up from the airport? …I can't think of anything else I'd rather see as soon as I get there.

Will you keep your job during the school year? What classes are you taking? …Do you still wear the pajama pants and try to smell me in my bed?

I can't decide which outcome I like better for your couple—the fast is certainly enticing, but you were right about there being something in the slow-and-steady. It's deliberate, and it leaves lots of room for getting to know each other and thorough exploration… Maybe instead of forensics or physics, you should write trashy romance novels.

As long as you always write them in the bathtub—my bathtub, preferably—I think it would be a wonderful idea.

…Yeah, okay, the creepy professor needs to stop saying things like that. I miss you so much, Sar'-Bear. I'll see you soon.

Grissom

_July 19th, 1989_

_Grissom,_

_No, I won't keep the job during the school year. My classes are all forensics classes—I have to say that your classes were rather tempting, but my advisor wanted me to take more intro-level courses first. I tried to explain, but then she didn't really understand. So you'll just have to teach me it all later, I guess. _

_I'm glad that you're going to be home soon—I know you see Vegas as home, but to me, Boston is where you belong—and I appreciate the help with apartment hunting and moving. I just hope that, in between all of that, we'll have some time just to be together. _

_I know that things are going to go back to normal when you get here—that I can't talk to you the way I write to you. I don't want you to think that I'm going to make things uncomfortable. As you've told me far too many times, I'm seventeen. I know that. _

_…But until you come back, you'll forgive me if I don't let go of the fantasy. I dream of endless days and nights on that beach, and of fulfillment like I've never known, tenderness like I've never known, pleasure like I've never known. And I dream of leaning back against you in a bathtub, full of heat and bubbles, running my hands beneath me to memorize the feel of you, and describing the next love scene from my imagination. _

_Come home soon, _

_Sara_

July 28th, 1989

Sara,

You probably won't have a chance to write me back. My flight is on August 7th. I'll call you to give you more detailed flight information, if you're planning to pick me up.

…I hope the fantasies don't stop, even though I know I shouldn't say that. Because mine won't stop once I'm in Boston, even when I stop talking about them. Every night since I received your last letter, I've fallen asleep dreaming about that bathtub…

If I don't stop now, I'll cross a line we probably shouldn't cross so close to me coming home. I'm sorry it's so short, and I'll see you soon, my Sara.

Missing you,

Grissom


	26. Chapter 26

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

A/N: As requested. :) Let me know what you think!

Oh, and for those who've been asking, Sara's birthday is September 16th. :)

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Chapter Twenty-Six:

She was waiting for me when the plane landed, and she was beautiful. Her hair was longer than it had been when I'd left, and she had it straightened—I had always preferred it curly, but long and straight was quite enticing as well. I wanted to run my fingertips through it. She beamed, and then the smile faltered, as if she wasn't certain if she was allowed to be happy about seeing me. I grinned, and the smile returned, and when I hugged her there was so much force between us that we might as well have run to each other. It knocked the breath from my lungs, but who needed to breathe when they had Sara Sidle in their arms?

She drove my car to my home, but there was comfort in that. She unlocked the door for me as I had for her many, many times. The house was obsessively clean, which I had expected, and with the exception of an impressive stack of romance novels now residing on my bookshelf, nothing seemed different. I grinned, moving the suitcase full of clothing into my bedroom with her close on my heels.

I turned, hugging her again, and she released a deep sigh of relief.

We spent the night in pajamas, curled up on the couch, watching late night television and eating Chinese food out of take out containers.

Things were easy, and normal, and even if there was a strange closeness—our hands brushed more often than they ever had—we didn't have any tense moments filled with what-if's. And I felt confident again. She was mine and she didn't know it, but I was hers. But she couldn't' know that, and she wouldn't.

The next day, I went out while she was still asleep—in my bed, in my pajama pants—to the gas station up the street and purchased a newspaper. I made breakfast and served it to her in bed, and then climbed in beside her and figured out what her apartment budget would be before breaking out the classifieds and making calls to see the places.

I had found while searching for a pen that morning the envelope I'd left her first letter in. Inside were the ten hundred dollar bills I'd left her, untouched. So I knew she had a deposit, if I could convince her to use the money.

It took us three days to find the place she wanted—close enough to school so she wouldn't need a car, in a safe neighborhood, and in a nice and clean building. It was just a one bedroom, but it had stacked washer and dryer in the apartment, so she wouldn't have to wash clothes in a communal laundry room. It had a larger than normal bathroom with a tub that made Sara blush, and the price was top of her price range, but affordable.

She signed the lease, and they gave her the keys that day. But we waited to move her in. Instead, I dropped her at the bookstore to purchase her text books, and went and picked up a pizza. She stayed in my bedroom again, and first thing the next morning I had to go into my office. She dropped me off around the corner, so that we wouldn't be seen together, and moved her possessions to her new apartment. By the end of the day when I walked a block from the anthropology building to get picked up, she drove us over to her apartment, which was rather bare.

We made a list of necessary items, and I took her shopping. I bought her a bed, even though she protested, and she bought herself a bed-in-a-bag bed set. We went to local thrift stores and looked at furniture—she found coffee tables and bedside tables and a kitchen table… but I refused to let her buy any of the couches we found. I bought her that as well. She wasn't happy about it, but it was necessary, and it was not as though I was wanting for money. Before Boston, I had done very little and saved the majority of what I made.

We spent the night unpacking her, and she wanted me to stay in her new apartment, but this felt… strange. Like a step too far. I left her there, and headed home alone. It was lonely, and I slept in the ants pajamas, dreaming not of carnal scenes of lust but of the previous two nights in which I'd simply held her in my arms after so much time away.

I left her my car again the next day, and after work we went and bought her kitchen essentials—plates and glasses and a few basic cooking tools. I wanted to buy her a microwave as well, but she put her foot down. We ate supper at her house—she cooked us macaroni and cheese in her new kitchen with her new pots and pans—and I returned home alone, again.

My birthday was the 17th, and a Thursday, so I went to work as normal. I wasn't sure Sara had remembered, which made me a little sad, but I was so excited just to have her there every day again—a real and present reality—that it didn't really phase me. She picked me up after work, again, and handed me a card as soon as I slipped inside the vehicle.

My eyebrows shot up.

"Happy Birthday!"

I chuckle. "I didn't think you'd remembered…"

She gave me a scolding glance. "Of course I remembered." I opened the card, which was full of sweet, if too personal, birthday sentiments, while she drove not to her apartment or mine but to a restaurant. I looked up in surprise and she grinned. "I'm taking _you_ out, for a change." She hugged me, again too affectionately, but without any attempt to make it anything more. "Happy Birthday Grissom…"

"Sara… You shouldn't have."

"Yes. I should have. C'mon! Let's eat!"

She jumped out of the car, and I couldn't help smiling at her exuberance. We moved inside and ordered, talking and laughing easily, and the food was delicious… and true to her word, she paid for the meal without a second glance at the bill.

She took me back to her place, which was unexpected, but she informed me that I could still go home tonight—but first I had to get my present from her. I grinned—I shouldn't like a Sara who informed me whether I was allowed to go home, but I did.

And when we got upstairs, she handed me her key rather than opening the door for me. With some amount of trepidation—clearly I was to see the present as soon as I walked in if she was having me open the door—I unlocked it and let it swing open. There was a cardboard box inside the door, with a boxer puppy on a blanket inside.

He put his paws up on the edges and licked his lips, as if he couldn't wait for one of us to get close enough for him to lick.

My jaw dropped and I turned to Sara, who laughed.

"You said that you'd always wanted a dog, but your mother is allergic. I thought that you should finally get one… Don't worry, I checked with both our apartment managers and they allow pets."

I wasn't sure how to react… and a part of me thought about being mad, but then… he was adorable, and she had remembered one of the first things I'd ever said. I scooped up the little puppy happily and he covered my face with his massive tongue to the sound of Sara's giggles. And then she was hugging both me and the puppy, her dimples out in full force.

"Happy Birthday." She told me, for the third time that night. "Did you get everything you wished for?"

I almost kissed her, but the puppy beat me to it. She giggled, and I laughed to. Somehow, I had.


	27. Chapter 27

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

A/N: Probably my last update for today, but it's possible there could be one more...

Her birthday's coming up, and I don't know who said they had a feeling that something would happen, but I doubt they'll be disappointed... although they probably won't be happy either. :) Well, maybe. It's a toss up.

Anyway, birthday should be between here and chapter thirty. I'm not sure.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Seven:

We named him Hank. It took me a while to get used to it, but it fit him. I hadn't wanted to, but Sara had asked me, "What did you want to name a dog when you were growing up?"

I tilted my head. "I don't want to name him that."

She giggled. "Why not?"

"It was 'Hank.' After Hammerin' Hank—the all time home-run leader. But…"

She shook her head. "No—let's name him that. Any name will always be associated more strongly with you than with anyone else in my mind."

I grinned. And the dog was Hank.

School started, and I saw Sara less. We took turns potty training Hank—I would let him out before I left for work in the morning, and as Sara didn't have any early morning classes, she would stop by and let him out before her first class. I would go home on my lunch break to let him out again, and then she would go in between her afternoon classes. I would hurry home after work, let him out, and then he'd come for a ride in the car to pick Sara up from her last class.

We'd take him for a walk, and then eat together. She'd do her homework and I'd do my grading, and we'd separate for the night, Hank always whimpering feebly at the parting. I knew exactly how he felt.

The first weekend after school started, I took her sailing, because she had said she loved all things to do with the ocean, and because our running summer fantasy had circled around the ocean and the beach. She was good at it, and together it was quite enjoyable. We stripped down to swim suits back on the beach, and had our imagined day of laughter and playing on the beach.

I was lucky the water was cold, because it kept me from embarrassing myself too much when she was pressed tightly against my body in water up to our waists as we jumped into each wave as it crashed around us. Her long, lanky arms wrapped around my neck, her round, pert little breasts pressed against my bare chest so tightly that I could clearly feel each nipple, our stomachs lined up exactly, all the way down to our legs. For my part, I kept my arms wrapped around her waist, and when we jumped, I always turned her so the waves would hit her back, in case she didn't close her eyes quickly enough.

It was truly like a little slice of heaven.

I had brought a change of clothes, and she had not, so we headed back to her place that evening. I showered first, and dressed while she showered, and we took Hank out on a long walk in the dark, letting him explore more than normal. Sara held his extra long leash in her right hand and wrapped her left arm around my waist, tucking herself into the crook of my arm. I wanted to kiss her again, that night, but I didn't.

I had to keep repeating it to myself like a manta: She's seventeen, she's your student, she's seventeen, she's your student.

I honestly believe that Sara heard the 'seventeen' part while we were at the beach, but she simply gave me a cheeky grin and splashed me, so I can't be sure.

Even though during the week we were focused—walking Hank and doing homework—the weekends were all ours. The following weekend—the first in September—I took her dancing. To an actual bar/dance club, where I was sure I would make a fool of myself. But it had been part of the summer fantasy, and it really hadn't been so very long since I'd been in college. They didn't card her, they just gave me a look, at which point I stipulated that I'd heard you could dance at 18, you just had to be 21 to drink. They put black X's on the backs of her hands, and I ushered her inside.

I ordered us both sodas, and we managed to find a tiny table stuffed in between two loud groups. They were small, and we drank them quickly while I tried to make it less than obvious how much I was looking at her. When I'd asked if she wanted to go dancing, she had run into her bedroom and come out in floaty, silky-feeling grey pants and a dark blue halter top with black flats. I had spent the entire night sneaking feels of the pants. They were almost as soft as her skin.

After ten minutes of sitting, a song that even I recognized came on, and her eyes lit up. I grinned, took her hand, and pulled her onto the floor. The beat was steady, and Sara seemed to have a natural rhythm—either that or she'd done her share of dancing. She turned so that her back was to me and backed up until I gripped her hips, holding her to me… and then she followed the beat, which made it exceedingly more realistic for me to follow.

In truth, I didn't have any trouble at all—moving with her and finding a pace and rhythm that worked for both of us came far too naturally, and had my mind wandering to all the ways in which such a thing might prove true.

After the first song, she turned around, wrapping her arms around my neck and continuing at a slightly slower pace, but it was still faster than slow dancing—and her hips were pressed firmly to fine. I wrapped my arms around her waist, bending my head until my nose was pressed against her shoulder, and groaned softly, reminding myself once again that she was seventeen, and my student, and seventeen.

This phrase came again and again as my hands creeped lower, brushing at the soft waistband of her pants and over the soft skin at the small of her back that I found there. She gasped, her fingers gripping my curls tightly, and if I had been the sort of man to drag a woman to a bathroom, I would have taken Sara there in an instant.

Instead, I ground my erection into her, reveled in her responses, and didn't let her go until we were both exhausted. We slept in separate apartments that night as well, but less out of my sense of propriety than out of my belief that I would not keep my hands off her if we stayed together.

I laid awake in bed for hours, reliving the feel of her pressed against me, and realized with some surprise that her birthday was exactly two weeks away. No—it was past midnight, and therefore Sunday. Thirteen days away. …And I had no idea what to get her.


	28. Chapter 28

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: Birthday should be chapter 29, up tonight or tomorrow... tomorrow night at the absolute latest. :)

Thanks for the wonderful reviews! :) You guys make my day!

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Eight:

I was on my third week of classes—one a version of the previous class I'd done with Sara the semester before—the other an advanced forensic entomology course for majors. I wasn't excited about them, because Sara wasn't in any of them, and no one really compared to her brilliance.

That weekend, I took Sara to a carnival. She was frightened of the roller coasters, so we left those 'til last. I bought her a foot-long corn dog and teased her when she got ketchup all over her face eating it, and then we moved from booth to booth, attempting to beat the rigged carnival games. More often than not, I lost—but I knocked over the bottles with a baseball and shot targets with a water pistol and won her two big toys. A boxer and a ladybug.

Next we went on the rides she would be comfortable with—the tilt-o-whirl and all the other rides that make your stomach feel like its dropping out of your body. She screamed and laughed and grabbed my arms and made me feel like I could save her from anything. We stopped to get cotton candy and sodas and sat on a sticky picnic table to eat and drink, surrounded by bees. She was afraid of them, jumping up and wanting to run away, but I pulled her back to the table and sat her down with one leg on each side of the seat. I slid in behind her, wrapping my arms over her arms.

"Don't worry—I'll protect you." I said against her shoulder, and she beamed, leaning heavily back against me. I reached around her and dripped some of my soda onto the table before us and a large, fuzzy bumblebee buzzed up to the spill immediately. I smiled. "The fuzzy ones are my favorite… they're kind of cute, don't you think?"

She laughed softly, still seeming afraid, but she didn't flinch when it flew away, passing directly in front of her face as it went. I made her feel safe.

Next we went to the batting cages, where Sara gave me a dubious look. I grinned. "I'll help you. C'mon." I inserted bills into a quarter machine and pulled out the quarters. I slid a bright red batting helmet over her frizzy curls and took a black one myself and guided her into the cage with me.

"Is it… just gonna come flying at me?"

I chuckle. "We'll have it come slow, I promise." I inserted quarters and set it on slow, and then guided her over to the base on the ground, wrapping my arms around her from behind and helping her hold the bat. She seemed nervous, again, and then the ball flew out at her and she shrieked and backed against my chest, letting the ball fly past her.

I nearly fell over laughing.

"Sara…" Another ball flew out and she pressed herself to me again. "Sara, honey… they're slow. Turn around…" She did. I gripped her hands over the bat firmly. "We'll do it together. Do you think I'll let it hit you?"

"…No, but—" A ball flew out and I swung our hands together, smacking it and watching as it bounced off the back wall. She giggled.

"Oh… that wasn't so bad."

I rolled my eyes, and swung with her when another ball came out. We did two or three together, and then I backed up, letting her try herself. She backed away from the first one, missed the second one entirely, and hit the third one and then dropped so dramatically that she missed the fourth one entirely.

By the time we left, I was practically hysterical and she was bright red.

"It's not funny! …Balls were flying at my _head_, Grissom!"

"…That's kind of the point."

She groaned and I wrapped an arm around her playfully. "Alright—let's do some roller coasters now!"

She whimpered softly, but I dragged her over to a little one and spent the entire wait in line explaining what roller coasters did for me and reassuring her that she would be fine. She got in with me, because I wanted her to, and held my hand until the cars started moving, at which point she gripped the shoulder harnesses and squeezed her eyes closed tightly.

Half-way through the roller coaster, she opened them… and though she screamed at every up and down, she kept them open. She laughed, at the end, and we topped off the rest of the afternoon by running around the park trying out the different roller coasters. Nearing six o'clock we stopped to buy burgers and fries and milkshakes and sat on another picnic table to eat, but the bees weren't out anymore—the mosquitoes were.

She was in a tank top, shivering and smacking her arms. I gave her my sweatshirt, and she beamed at me, dragging me off to a concert at the carnival—a local band whose music was extremely eclectic, a mixture of bongo drums and piano and saxophone and xylophone, with a bouncy tempo and energetic singer. We paid five dollars each to sit on the grass back from the group of people surrounding the crowd, and watch the concert.

She sat in front of me, between my legs, her back tucked up under my chest, my chin to her shoulder. And with each new song, hardly thirty seconds into it, she would be moving to the new beat and humming. I spent the time trailing my hands from her shoulders down to her elbows, trailing my fingertips down her spine or over the nape of her neck. And when the band finished, it was nearing ten o'clock, and I knew we had to hurry.

I dragged her across the park at a run and at exactly 9:59 we were boarding the Ferris Wheel.

"Why was it so important that we run… there's hardly any line."

I glanced at my watch, it moved to the ten when we were halfway up. I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and smiled. "Just watch."

She narrowed her eyes, looking out over the park—and then jumping out of her seat when a loud whistle split the air, closely followed by a boom and a starburst of light in the sky. Her eyes got wide and a small, subtle smile crossed her beautiful lips. Her next words came on the end of a gasp. "…Fireworks. Ohhh!"

She tucked her body back against mine, and we watched the fireworks show as it played out before us against the dark sky. There wasn't a line, so the ride technician let us stay on through the fireworks, and by the time we got off, headed towards my car, Sara looked like a child who had had the best day of her life.

She was slightly dirty, hair out of place, eyes drooping with fatigue and still bright with excitement, and she couldn't stop talking about all we'd done that day, even when the yawns interrupted her in the middle of words. For the first time since she'd gotten her apartment, I let her stay the night.

We both showered before bed, dusty and sticky and sweaty from our day at the carnival, and changed into our usual pajamas. When I came out of the master bathroom, it was to find the hall bathroom empty, and clinking noises coming from the kitchen.

She had made us each a banana split, and placed a small scoop of vanilla on the floor in a bowl for Hank. We took our ice cream to my bedroom, and fell asleep to late night television again, more full—and in more ways that I could possibly explain—that we had been in so very long.


	29. Chapter 29

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

A/N: So absolute last chapter for the night. But it should make you all happy. :)

Let me know what you think--my original vision of this scene was with Grissom being a lot more... directing and ordering... but I felt like that's not really the place he's in, anymore, even if he keeps trying for it.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Nine:

Sara's birthday was on a Saturday… I called her in the morning to see what she wanted to do for the day. I had looked up several things that were going on in the city that day, but I wanted her to do exactly as she wanted. My only stipulations were the present I had hidden under my bed, and the cake I had in the refrigerator. But when I called, she didn't answer.

This worried me, but I left a message and waited… rather impatiently. Several times I checked on the present, to make sure it was okay. It was a Morpho Theseus Juturna—a rare butterfly I had had in a shadow box since I'd visited the rainforest in college. Its wings were light blue, black on the edges. The gift itself was nice—the specimen was perfect, the butterfly rare and expensive—but the meaning was more important… I wouldn't tell her the meaning, but it was important.

In China, butterflies were a symbol for long life and even men in love. In Japan they were representative of young maidens and marital bliss. In Germany, they were associated with witches—and what was a witch but a strong young woman who had been unafraid of her own intelligence and spoke her mind, even when the men who surrounded her disliked it? Exactly like my Sara. And in most of the rest of the world, they represented souls.

I was giving my soul to my bewitching young maiden… she just wouldn't know that.

It was nearly noon when she called me—from a pay phone. I was worried and a little upset, but she told me that something had come up—and she would explain when she saw me. Could I come pick her up at her apartment in twenty minutes?

Of course, I could. So I let Hank out, brought him back in, and trudged out to my car. This was not the way I had expected her birthday going, and I was trying very hard not to be frustrated. I drove slowly, because she hadn't wanted me for twenty minutes and her apartment was only a ten minute drive from mine, and when I arrived… there was an envelope taped to her doorway. I pulled it down—it said 'Grissom' on it—and knocked. No one answered.

More upset now, I groaned and took the envelope back to my car, tearing it open and reading what she had left me, for whatever reason she felt she needed to send me on a wild goose chase.

_I'm sorry—I'm sure you're upset, but don't be. Go home, and I'll meet you there. …Trust me. _

_Sara_

I groaned, driving back home, wondering where she had called me from—it had been a payphone, my caller ID had told me as much—but where? When I moved up to my doorway, the door was unlocked—I was sure I had locked it, and Sara was the only person who had a key to my apartment. I wasn't sure whether to be excited or frustrated, and I closed the door behind me, slipping off my shoes and looking around.

"Sara?"

I didn't hear her, but I heard Hank's tags jingling in the hallway, and then he hurried out to me. With no one in the house, he always stayed in the living room. The only reason he would be in the hallway was if someone was there. I set down my keys and moved down the hallway, finding that the only door that was closed was my bedroom door—and under the door was a strange, flickering sort of light.

I furrowed my brow and took a deep breath, before opening the door slowly.

She was kneeling on top of my bed in a pale pink, silky nightie lined in white lace. Her impossibly long legs were bare, her modest breasts were pressed up to give her an impressive amount of cleavage, and her curls were pinned up on her head almost elegantly, with a few spiraling down around to frame her face. White candle covered every surface of the room, and she was smiling at me softly.

My heart was hammering in my chest and I felt light-headed, and I hadn't even known my jaw had dropped until she blushed beautifully and said softly, "…Grissom? …Say something."

I closed my mouth and swallowed hard, uncertain what to say—and then I came to my senses.

"I… Sara, what are you doing?!"

She faltered, the smile dimming and the blush intensifying. "I, uh… I'm…" She seemed to get a grip on herself and straightened her shoulders. "…I'm eighteen now."

I closed my eyes in absolute disbelief. How could she have misconstrued what I had meant when I had told her that she was seventeen… how could she have assumed that be being her teacher would no longer be an issue once she was of legal age? I drew in an unsteady breath and opened by eyes again.

The candlelight flickered over the shiny, silky fabric of her nightie. Jesus, she was beautiful. I sighed softly, trying to be gentle.

"Sara, you… even if you're old enough, you… you're my student."

She shook her head softly, and I think she may have had tears in her eyes. "I… I'm not your student. I'm not in any of your classes…"

I shook my head, realizing as each moment passed and each heartbeat reverberated in my chest that this had absolutely ruined everything. You can't claim to just be friends with a student who had dressed up in lingerie and sat on your bed. You can't claim to be just friends when your immediate thought was not that it was so completely inappropriate, but that she was so fucking beautiful like that. I shook my head again, frantically, feeling panic begin to well up in me. I was going to lose her!

"Sara… God, Sara, why?! Why would you do this! …Don't you understand what this does? What this means?! I… We… there's no way that we can… can be 'just friends' now. This is… I… you… You've ruined everything!" I spit out in absolute desperation.

Her jaw dropped, and the tears were prominent in her eyes now. "But I thought… Grissom…" Her voice was a whimper, and it broke my heart. "You kept saying… 'she's seventeen.'"

I cringe. "Sara, honey… I was keeping myself for making a mistake, not telling myself to wait another week or two…"

She crumples, and the tears begin, and she doesn't even get up to rush away from me—she just curls up on the bed letting her tears and embarrassment consume her, and I'm moving over to her before I know what I'm doing. I wrap my arms around her.

"Honey… shh. I'm sorry, I'm not mad, really… I just… I just wasn't expecting this, okay? I didn't know how to react…"

She draws in a shuddering breath, and a sob breaks from her lips. "I… I thought… you wanted me…"

I brush the curl from her face. "Oh, honey… I do want you. …If you had any idea how good you look, but…"

"I'm your student." She spat out, bitterly. I cringed and simply held her, letting her cry, while I relived every fantasy of a moment like this I'd ever had in my mind and realized how utterly unlike what I'd imagined this was. I swallowed hard.

"…What if… what if I didn't touch you? …Would… would that be… sex with a student? If I never touched you?"

She looked up, wiping her eyes restlessly. "I… what…?"

I shook my head. "Nothing… I… I'm sorry Sara." I kissed her forehead, but apparently she had heard me, despite the question on her lips and in her eyes. She swallowed hard, and a blush spread from her chest to her hairline, but she was sitting up straighter again.

She knew what I had been implying, and without a moment's more hesitation, she backed up to the top of the bed, sitting so that her shoulder blades and head were braced against the headboard and the rest of her laid across the bed. She slid her hands nervously—she was absolutely trembling—up her thighs, and slid back down with her thumbs linked around the waist band of white lace panties.

She looked me deeply in the eyes and then closed them, as if gathering courage, and slid her slim little fingers between her legs, lightly teasing herself and moaning softly into the stillness of my bedroom.

My head was spinning again—I could not believe this was honestly happening. I watched her with wide eyes, feeling my pants become far too tight and constrictive and my breathing start to come out faster. I stood up so that I could face her, and without really knowing what I was doing, I was pulling my shirt from where it tucked into my pants, my chest heaving with the sight of her.

Another moan broke the stillness, and her fingers moving were becoming noisier—the wet sounds letting me know that she was hardly pretending. I wondered if she was thinking of me, what she was thinking about, how exactly those fingers were moving… small circles, actual penetration, simple back and forth friction?

I pulled my shirt over my head frantically, not entirely certain why I was undressing, but feeling as though I was too hot and my clothing too tight and the removal of them the only logical choice in this particular circumstance. Once shirtless, I fumbled with my belt—her hand was moving faster, her hips lifting from the bed, her breathing filling up the room.

She whimpered softly as my pants hit the floor, and I looked intently—her left hand was teasing her nipples through the silk. Without thought, I was immediately stroking myself, moaning along with her, desperate for her release, not caring if I was the one to give it to her. And then she whimpered again, her hips straining against her eager fingers, and I realized that she couldn't come. She was close—so very close—but she couldn't get herself there.

It wasn't even a consideration—how could I not move to her, kneel on the bed between her knees, and give her that which she so obviously longed for? I could not deny her—or myself—any longer. I gently tugged her fingers away from her hot, wet center and her eyes opened in alarm. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly and her eyes were wild. I smiled softly.

"…Can I help you, honey?"

She nodded, her cheeks flushed and her expression disbelieving. I wanted to dive right into her—bring her to the brink so fast that she would never forget what it was like to come when I was the one causing it. But it was the first time I would touch her intimately. It was too important to misconstrue into a cheap male pride thing.

I trailed soft fingertips and even softer kisses from her knees to her inner thighs and her legs fell further open to me like a flower in the rays of the sun. I breathed in, savoring her scent, and traced her outer labia with my fingertips. She jerked beneath me, and whimpered again. I chuckled.

"Patience, darling…" I traced down the length of her apex with a single finger and she shuddered beneath me, and then I dipped the finger in slowly, reveling in how hot and wet she was. My eyes nearly rolled back in my head. Her hips lifted up, to try to force penetration, but I used my other hand on her stomach to gently push her back down.

The fingertip between her lips but not yet inside her moved up and down, stopping to draw a circle around her clitoris and then to do it again when an emphatic, "Oh God!" burst from her pink little lips. And then finally, finally, I slid it slowly into her. She was unbelievably tight, despite how wet she was, and she tightened around me further, her mouth an explosion of expletives.

Slowly, gently, I moved it inside her, listening to her breathy gasps and moans, before tentatively moving my head between those glorious thighs to flick my tongue ever-so-slowly over her most intimate little pearl. She gasped loud, and another string of expletives left her mouth, making me groan and smile against her. I was throbbing and wanted to slide a hand down to each some of my ache, but I didn't want to divert my attention from Sara—not only was it our first time, it was her first orgasm ever. I wanted it to be all about her.

I considered adding a second finger—but she did not seem ready for it yet. I slowly sped up, sucking her clitoris into my mouth and circling it with my tongue until she was arching wantonly against me, the expletives silenced now, and her whole body trembling.

"Oh… Gri… Griss… Oh, I… I … I think I'm close, but… Oh, god, I want to… I want to…"

I removed my mouth for a brief moment. "I know honey… you're getting there. You gotta work for it, baby, but you'll get there… tell me what you like… what gets you close, okay? Do what your body wants you to…"

I dipped my head back down, using just my tongue again as my finger sped up. She let out a loud, low, desperate moan, and her long fingers released the sheets at her side and slid into my hair instead, gripping hard and eliciting a groan from me. God, that was hot. My tongue sped up, and then I sucked her into my mouth again.

"Oh… that… that. Do that… Oh god, fuck, Grissom…" Her moans took over again and I kept sucking—harder and harder—speeding my finger up again. Once again, I thought about using a second finger, but before I could her muscles were clamping tightly around me and she was going again, "Oh… Oh… Oh… I think… Oh!" Her whole body tensed and her nails dug into my scalp and a glance up at her showed her mouth open in a silent scream while her whole body trembled violently.

I slowed my ministrations to let her down easy, and once she had come down and the aftershocks were fewer and further between, I removed my hand and mouth, licking my lips in absolute reverence and disbelief. I had broken every rule I had made for myself, and I didn't know what would happen in the morning—but I knew that I had given Sara Sidle her first orgasm in my bed, and that she was lying flushed and exhausted and blissful on my pillows, her entire body limp.

I moved up her body, ignoring the discomfort from my own unfulfilled needs, and cradled her delicately in my arms. She moaned softly and moved with me, burying her face in my chest and breathing deeply, her skin hot and sticky with sweat. I kissed her forehead and brushed the hair from her face.

"Happy Birthday, Sara."

She hummed softly against my chest and her fingers tightened in my chest hair. And that was enough.


	30. Chapter 30

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: Thank you all for the wonderful reviews. I'm sorry if I interrupted your lives with my smut--Nonnie, Jelly, Hammer ;)--but I hope you liked it. I don't think I'll update today like yesterday, but it's possible. :)

Tell me what you think!

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Chapter Thirty:

I woke up before her—we'd fallen asleep around 1:30 in the afternoon, and it my stomach growling that had me stirring. It was nearly seven, and she still looked like she was thoroughly and deeply asleep. I smiled at her beautiful sleeping form and disentangled myself from her, getting up gingerly. I stooped to blow out the candles that hadn't blown themselves out, disregarding the wax that covered an entire nightstand, and moved slowly out of the bedroom, closing the door softly behind me.

Hank whimpered and ran to his rug when I entered the main living space, which meant that he'd had an accident. I couldn't really blame him though—he hadn't been let out since noon. I went to the kitchen, washed my hands, and put water on to boil—I was going to make Sara's favorite pasta dish—and then dug out carpet cleaner and paper towels and hunted for the spot.

Then, silently thankful that my apartment entrance was accessible from the outside, I hooked Hank's extra long leash on him and sent him out the door to use the bathroom, so that I wouldn't need to locate pants. By the time he was whimpering to come inside, I'd washed my hands again and assembled ingredients for the pasta—and was thinking about the encounter with Sara.

In my head, I was saying that it was a fluke—that it could never happen again—but I also knew better. I wouldn't be able to turn her down again, and she clearly knew that I did want her… which would mean an adjustment in how I approached our relationship. Glancing at the pasta, I turned the water to low and decided a shower was in order. I always did my best thinking in the shower, and if things were going to become intimate with Sara, I should probably do a little preparation… I didn't want to lose control too early on her after all my talk about her needing a man who was experienced.

I used the guest bathroom, so as not to wake her—or be overheard—and moved under the hot water almost immediately, reveling in the delicious ache of my muscles under the hot stream. We hadn't had sex, but my whole body felt stiff anyway. I washed my hair first, then my body, and then braced a hand against the shower wall and let my eyes close, reliving the scene from just a few hours previous.

At the time, I had been so overwhelmed with _what_ was happening that I hadn't been able to appropriately appreciate the details. The candle light had made the gold accents in her hair from a summer in the sun glisten and the pink of her lingerie had made her skin look impossibly soft. Her legs were even longer than I'd imagined when I was between them, and she'd tasted like nothing I'd ever known—better than any woman I'd been intimate with by far. She'd tasted like sugar and innocence and surrender.

I groaned softly, letting my hand speed up. And she had been so god-damned tight. Tighter than ever I'd imagined. To imagine how she would feel with me buried deep inside her, her walls contracting around—I stopped abruptly, my eyes snapping open, and moan dying in my throat. The bathroom door had just opened.

Foolishly, I thought maybe I hadn't closed it all the way and Hank was coming in to investigate. But no, after a moment, I heard the rustling of cloth, and then the shower curtain was sliding back. There stood a very beautiful, very tousled, very naked Sara Sidle, blush reaching half-way down her breasts and smile as bright as anything.

"…Can I join you?" Her voice was low and husky and a little more confident than I was used to—and then she looked me up and down, and I became embarrassingly aware than I still had a hand around my erection. I dropped it immediately.

"I… uh… Well, Sara…" She stepped in and closed the curtain.

"I just… woke up alone and when I was coming to find you, I… well, I… _heard_ you." The blush deepened, but she seemed pleased. "And I realized that I just went to sleep… and that I hadn't done anything for you."

Her delicate little fingertips found my chest and began trailing downwards. Goose bumps broke across my skin. "That's fine, really… I wanted it…" I shudder as her fingers finally wrap around me. "…to be about you."

She smiles softly and moves her hand over me, clearly trying to imitate the motion and pace I'd shown her on our hands all that time ago. It isn't perfect, but that almost makes it better—it shows her innocence. I'm throbbing underneath her hesitant strokes. "It was about me… and this… this is about you."

My head fell back against the shower wall and my eyes closed. God, everything she was doing was amazing—I wanted to stop her, but I would have to be able to draw breath and speak in order to do that. "Sara…" There. That's a start. She took a step closer, pressing her hand around me tight between our bodies.

"Tell me how to touch you…"

I shivered and squeezed my eyes even tighter. "Sara…I… Oh god." My head rolled against the tile under it.

She grinned. "Faster?"

"I… Yes. No." She sped up. "No, I… Oh, god, yes." I was bucking into her hands—putty in her hands—unable to stop her or even open my eyes to try to guess what she was thinking in this moment… and then I was moving forward, pushing her backwards until she hit the opposite wall. Her hand never left me, thank god, and then I was leaned against her, my head buried against her shoulder, my whole body thrusting forward into her tight little fist.

"Oh, Sara… Sara, god… I… I'm gonna…"

"Come for me."

The idea of Sara—my innocent little Sara—uttering those words… I didn't just go over the edge, I was violently pushed… throw over… stampeded over. My hands gripped her shoulders and I screamed into the skin at her neck as absolute, overwhelming, undeniable pleasure washed through me. I had never, ever, come like the before.

There was a moment of dizziness—of incomprehension—and when I was aware… I realized she was laughing. But it didn't feel mocking—it felt amused and delighted and innocent. I struggled to lift my head up and take in her face. She was wearing a cheeky grin and a delicate blush and a knowing sort of wonderment in her eyes.

Breathing heavily, I still managed a wry smile. "…What?"

She blushed further, but her eyes kept laughing. "I, uh… I didn't expect it to… shoot out so much." She giggled again, and I felt my own face getting warm. I cleared my throat.

"It… it doesn't always but…" I shake my head. "Yeah… I'm sorry Sara, I should have stopped you and… and I shouldn't have pushed you against the wall and… and I shouldn't have… with you right there… I…"

She smiled, her features soft. "I'm glad you did."

I smiled too, and then I was cupping her face in my hand and pressing her back against the shower wall, kissing her and kissing her and kissing her—softly, but with no small amount of passion. I had come into the shower to figure out exactly what I was going to do about what was between us… figure out how to manipulate it so that the power still fell squarely on my side of the line. I hadn't done that, but for some reason, I couldn't even bring myself to care.


	31. Chapter 31

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: This is shorter than I intended, but I found a good place to end it, so you get an update. :) Reviews are love. Enjoy!

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Chapter Thirty-One:

I had the strangest desire to wash her hair, but I refrained, leaning against the shower wall to catch my breath while she washed her own hair and then reached for the bar of soap. Pushing myself to standing, I took the soap from her and proceeded to lovingly soap each area of her body in detail, laying kissed to the area once it had been rinsed before moving on to the next. She was delightfully responsive, and it took everything in me to pull away from her and insist we go eat, have cake, and that she open her present.

She tried her best to entice me to stay, and then giggled at the results when she was effective, which had me wrapping a towel, someone disgruntled, around my waist to hide the "results" from sight. It does nothing for a man's ego to have a young and beautiful woman giggling at his erection, even if she'd giggling because she's enjoying having the ability to provoke one. Once the towel was tucked, however, I took her hand to help her over the rim of the tub, and proceeded to dry her entire body piece by piece, following my drying with kisses as well.

When she'd wrapped the towel under her arms, we moved out of the bathroom. She went to my bedroom, and I went to the kitchen to add pasta to my water and turn the heat up. She returned in a tank top and a pair of my boxers, and the sight had me imagining taking her up against the wall. Instead, I stirred the noodles and hitched my towel more tightly around myself. I didn't need her laughing again.

I handed off the spoon and pecked her lips quickly before heading to the bedroom to slip into a clean pair of boxers and a black t-shirt. I hadn't imagined her birthday party occurring in our underwear, but I couldn't necessarily see any reason why this was a bad thing. I took her present out from underneath the bed and headed down the hallway to place it on the bar top and then scoot around behind Sara to pull her cake from the fridge and set it up on the bar top as well.

She got a strange, affectionate look in her eyes. "Grissom… you didn't need to go to all this trouble…"

I smiled. "Yes I did. …Anyway, you earned it." I gave her an exaggerated wink and she giggled, setting her spoon down and moving closer to me, pressing her body against mine. I had to bite back a groan—she just wouldn't stop enticing me.

"…Really?" Her voice was full of curiosity. "Does that you mean you liked what I did in the shower…?"

It takes a good deal of effort to give her a sardonic look and say, "What do you think?" My body was trying force out a shaky, trembling, undignified 'uh-uh' instead. She giggled, running her fingers down the center of my chest.

"Well… I think that, if you like it… maybe I could do it again sometime." I groaned softly.

"You are going to be the death of me, Sara Sidle."

She giggled again and leaned in and kissed me. Her lips were so unbelievably soft—I could absolutely lose myself in her kisses.

With these kind of distractions, cooking her birthday dinner took a lot longer than it should have, and it was over an hour later that we have finally finished eating. I hadn't intended to, but on impulse I'd pulled out a bottle of wine to have with dinner—Sara had wrinkled her nose and said she didn't like it, but she finished the glass I poured her without further complaint. At my raised eyebrow, she just shrugged. "It grows on you."

I just smiled—how could I not?—and refilled her glass before taking her plate from her and returning with cake plates, candles, and a lighter. She pursed her lips.

"I don't think I've had candles a cake since… before I went into foster care."

I don't know what prompted me to make the declaration—practically a promise—but I did. And I didn't feel like I was misrepresenting myself in the slightest when I said, "If I can help it, you'll have candles on every birthday cake from now on."

Her whole face lit up, and I went to work lighting eighteen little candles and sliding the cake closer to where she sat. "…Make a wish."

Her eyes searched my face, deeply, for a moment and then shook her head. "I don't need to." She drew in a deep breath and blew them all out in a rush and the delighted, childlike look on her face prompted me to kiss her again. She tasted like cream sauce and red wine and excitement, and I wondered if there would be a moment for the rest of my life that I didn't spend wanting to touch her.

She deepened the kiss, and hating myself for it, I pulled back from her. "Sara." She whimpered softly, and I smiled indulgently. "Open your present, honey."

Her eyes lit up again as she lifted the present and peeled back the wrapping paper slowly, like she had with the Christmas presents—as if even it were precious. And when she pulled out the shadow box, her eyes were wide and her mouth open. "Oh… Grissom. It's… it's beautiful."

I started to cut the cake to give us each a piece, beaming at how happy she seemed about the gift, when her hand reached out and fell over mine, stopping the knife's progression into the fluffy layers. I glanced up at her uncertainly, and she was blushing—a sure sign of what she was thinking. I felt my mouth go dry.

"…I think… the cake can wait."

I swallowed hard. "Sara…"

She shook her head. "I don't want to hear reasons why not…"

I shook my head too. "No, I… it's just that…" I swallowed convulsively. I hadn't gotten this far—I hadn't had a chance to think all of this out. She smiled softly.

"I'm not going to tell anyone, Grissom. I… I know how much a risk it is… for you. For both of us… No one has to know."

I shook my head—I seemed to be doing that a lot lately. "Sara…" She had already stood up and started towards the bedroom. Seeing that me calling her name had not called made her stop nor even hesitate, I allowed another moment to pass and then grumbled and got to my feet, following her into the bedroom.

She was sitting cross-legged in the center of my bed, looking more like a girl than a woman, in posture if not in actual physique, and giggled at my scowl. "Me thinks the entomologist doth protest too much."

I rolled my eyes. "The entomologist is just having a hard time catching up with your crazy, raging teenage hormones. One would think one orgasm would be enough for the day…"

She blushed. "I'm sorry, Griss', I just—"

I captured her lips, leaning her backwards until her back hit the bed. "I'm teasing you honey—I'm beginning to think I'll never get enough of you."

She licked her lips, fixing her gaze intently on me—her eyes were darker than normal, her pupils dilated, her breathing coming just the tiniest bit quicker from her open mouth. I kissed her gently again, soft and slow—I didn't want to rush anything. The previous night I hadn't had the opportunity to adequately explore her—I took the opportunity now.

I let my hands trail over her long, bare arms and grasp her hands tightly, pulling them over her head and pinning her down gently. I pulled back from her lips then, taking the time to look over her face and follow my gaze with soft nibbles and playful little bites along her chin, neck, jaw line… the lobe of her ear. Her eyes fluttered demurely, and her breathing was coming faster and faster beneath me.

I kissed a line down to her breasts and then passed her wrists into my left hand, so that I could trace the outline of her delicious curves with the fingertips on my right hand. She shivered and arched her chest upward, demanding more pressure. I circled her nipple with a fingertip and then bent to draw the hard nub into my mouth, sucking gently until a raw moan broke from her lips.

"Grissom… oh god, Grissom…"

I kissed her lips again. I had meant it when I said she'd be the death of me—but I was going to die so very, very happy.


	32. Chapter 32

Disclaimer: I do not own.

A/N: ...This isn't really where I expected this chapter to go, exactly. But I re-read it, and I decided that I like it. Even if it's not necessarily exactly what I had in mind.

Thanks, as always, for the wonderful reviews. Hopefully this will inspire some more... because the next chapter will be fairly similar...ish. :)

Enjoy!

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Chapter Thirty-Two:

I pulled back from her, hesitating, watching her face until her eyes fluttered open and then searching them deeply. "Sara… I, uh… I don't want to rush things… you. I don't want to rush you."

Eyes that had been previously clouded with desire cleared somewhat and narrowed. "I… you're not. I want this. I… I want you."

I moved off of her, releasing her wrists and lying beside her on the bed, letting my fingertips instead brush her still-damp hair from her face. "Honey, you… you've never done any of this before. Let's… let's take it slow, work up to it."

Her forehead crinkled and her lips pouted. "But…" She bit her bottom lip. "Don't you… aren't you going to… you'll be…"

I shook my head slowly. "Stop thinking about me, Sara. This is about you… let's start slow… and when you're ready for it, we can do anything you want to…" She sat there for a moment, still looking confused and uncertain and I ran the back of my fingers down her cheek. "Hey… why does this upset you so much?"

"I… I don't want to wait to feel you… to give you what you want… to be a part of you." Her face was red again, and though her eyes were clear, her voice sounded like she was about to cry. I drew in a deep breath.

"There are lots of ways to be intimate… lots of ways to be a part of me, and for me to be a part of you. That's all I want, Sara… really. Let's… let's do something smaller, ease into all of this."

She pursed her lips, and she still looked slightly distressed, but the gaze she turned on me was thoughtful after that. "I… Anything we do, you'll still have to teach me."

And there it was—the control I had lost and been unable to find again, handed back to me.

I tugged her slightly closer to me so that we were both lying on our sides, facing each other, and I put a hand to her face. I let my thumb drag reverently over her perfect cheekbones, and then dipped my head forward to capture her lips again. She kissed back eagerly, welcoming my tongue the minute she felt it graze her lips and tentatively letting hers caress mine.

Without being entirely aware of what I was doing, I was rolling back on top of her, sliding my hands into her damp hair and pressing my thigh between hers. Her breathing was racing with hardly any encouragement and her hands had shyly moved to my shoulders and slid behind them to slowly run them up and down my back. It was sending chills down my spine.

My hands slid down her shoulders and then to her chest, tentatively taking each breast in hand and sizing them up in my palms. They weren't large, but they were beautiful, soft, rounded perfection and I caressed them briefly before moving my hands even lower to toy with the hem of her tank top. She groaned and arched her hips against me and I broke the kiss, a teasing smile on my face.

"…Don't tell me Sara Sidle is an impatient lover?"

She blushed. "You're teasing me." She accused. I nipped her bottom lip and pressing my thigh up tighter between her legs.

"What on earth would give you that idea…?"

She groaned, and a quickly as I could I gripped the tank top in question and pulled it up and off her body in one swift, sweeping movement. She looked surprised, and then smiled. "Now who's impatient?"

I pressed my leg up and she gasped. I chuckled. "Yep. Still you, baby."

I started kissing down her body again, letting my hands lead and my lips follow, taking time to adequately worship each of her breasts and trace the hourglass curves of her abdomen and nip along the edge of my boxers, loose around her slender hips. She gasped and moaned and wiggled beneath me when I found a particularly sensitive spot area or ticklish spot. I had gripped the boxers on either side of her legs when she stopped me.

"Grissom..." I stopped, glancing up at her. "Come kiss me, please?"

I smile and move back up her body, planting a kiss firmly on her lips. It was a surprise when she surged forward with more energy than I'd anticipated and rolled me onto my back. She let her long legs slide forward, off my legs, to straddle my hips. She blushed and looked down at me. "Is this… okay?"

I was breathless, but I nodded, lifting my hips up to press my erection against her. She gasped softly, but did not linger and rock against me, as I expected. Instead, she bent down to kiss me again and shyly, moved down my body, laying another kiss with every half foot she passed.

And it was then that I realized what she was doing—what she intended. "Sara…"

"You said something smaller… this is smaller. A natural progression." Her hands shook as she reached the bottom of my shirt and tugged it up, bright red again. When she got it up to my chest I took over, pulling it up and over my head and arms and looking back to her with a curious eye. She blushed even brighter, which I would not have believed possible a moment before.

"I, uh…" She swallowed hard. "This was… less intimidating… when you were already naked."

I smiled softly. "Come up here, honey, talk to me."

She shook her head—stubborn. "I… I don't want to talk. I want to…" Her face was glowing again. "I just… don't know what to do, exactly."

"…I'll tell you then. If… it's what you want."

She nodded, squeezing her eyes closed and hooking her fingers inside my boxers to pull them down—they caught on my erection, and she blushed and swore under her breath and struggled with shaking hands. I caught them in mine and then removed the boxers myself, taking in a deep breath. A large part of me wanted to tug her up to me and insist that we wait on this, because if she was this nervous then it probably wasn't right.

The other part of me was vividly aware of how I could not have planned the situation better. Had not my first and darkest of fantasies included her being anxious to try to please me? And she had fought me several times when I'd tried to slow us down… she said she wanted to, and even if I didn't know what to do about the change in our relationship, I knew that to let her be my equal was to accept the fact that she would leave me, sooner or later.

So I let my hands fall to my sides on the bed, and when she turned a nervous expression to me, I directed her.

"Start with your hand, if you're uncomfortable."

Awkwardly, she took me in her hand again—but she had done this once before, and her strokes soon evened out and I found myself reacting strongly—I was panting, heat and chills chasing each other down my limbs.

"Tease me with your tongue… up the underside, base to head…"

She did exactly as I said, and along with the tingling feeling it was giving me deep in my stomach, I felt a surging feeling of power in my chest. She would do anything I said. _Anything_.

"…and around the head."

She ran her tongue around me, and then, unbidden, slid it over the very tip, drawing a surprised gasp from me as my hips lifted in response. She smiled sweetly, proud of herself, and then glanced at me again. For instruction.

"Put your mouth around me, move it up and down."

I was not expecting how good her mouth would feel—I had not been a ladies' man by any means, but I was no stranger to fellatio… but nothing had ever felt like her mouth around me. It had me digging my hands into the sheets at my side to keep from bucking into her mouth. That was bad form even with a woman who would be prepared for the possibility.

"You… Oh, fuck… You can use… god, Sara… use your hand too, at the…" I moaned. "At the… base and… Shit, Sara, you feel so goddamned good." I moaned again, and my hips lifted just a little, of their own accord. Not quite a thrust, but enough to have her eyes widening in surprise… and delight, maybe?

Belatedly, she registered what I'd said, and the hand that had held me began moving in time with her mouth, up and down, intensifying the building feeling I'd been fighting back. I groaned loudly and she moaned in response, the humming sending vibrations straight through me, and suddenly I was right on the brink.

"I… Sara, I… I'm gonna… You don't have to… use your mouth… I… it's okay, I…"

I let out what could only be described as a growl, and then I was hurtling forward into the abyss, and it was a tribute to my powerful mind that I remembered to warn her at all.

"I… I'm coming, Sara… I'm coming!" I groaned again, my hips lifted a little again, and my hands flew from the sheets and into her hair when I realized that she wasn't pulling back or stopping. Her hand and mouth pumped me and I was only dimly aware of where and what and why as I spilled into her mouth.

Once finished however, I was overcome by guilt. I should have explained more… warned her… eaten more fruit in the last few weeks… pulled her mouth from me…

Exhausted, I managed to lift my sweaty head from the bed. She looked uncertain again, her mouth full. I would have laughed, had the guilt not been so strong. "Honey…" She glanced at me, and blushed again. "Go spit it in the sink, baby." Her eyes flashed gratefully and she sprung off the bed, heading into my master bathroom while I let my head fall back to the sheets in fatigue.

In a moment, when I regained the feeling in my legs, I would have to kiss her, and thank her, and apologize, and do everything I could to make it up to her… to make her scream out loud this time rather than silently, as she had with her first… but just now, I couldn't even move. Every inch of me was tingling.

And even knowing that it was probably wrong to think, I wondered why on earth I had waited so long to give in to this.


	33. Chapter 33

Disclaimer: I do not own.

A/N: This will be the last smut for a little while, so savor it. Lol. Thanks for the lovely reviews, they made me smile. Especially when people were strongly opinionated on their relationship, one way or the other. :) I loved it. Thank you so much.

Enjoy! (And review?)

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Chapter Thirty-Three:

She returned and climbed onto the bed. I lifted my arm and she took the cue, curling up against my side, tucked under my arm with her head on my chest, despite the sweat clinging to my skin. Her long fingers ran through the hair on my chest and after a moment, I could feel her tense slightly—not as though she were uncomfortable, but like she was thinking. My breathing had slowed, and I turned my head to the side, kissing her hair.

"…What is it, honey?"

"Nothing. …Well, I… Was that… Did I… do okay?"

I let out a startled laugh. I don't know how I continued to forget her naïveté, but it seemed to surprise me every time. I kissed her hair again. "Honey… you were amazing. …Mind-blowing."

The look of absolute joy that crossed her face intensified my afterglow, and I had to draw in a deep breath simply in reaction to the light she seemed to emit. I bent my head further to place another kiss more firmly to her lips. "Next time… if you want there to be a next time, I mean, uh… you don't have to… keep your mouth on me when I… finish. I know that it's not really…" I scowled at my own stuttering. She was the nervous virgin, why was I afraid of her reaction?

She tucked herself closer to me and tightened her arms around me. "No, it… it wasn't that bad."

I turned my face and she looked up at me, catching the eyebrow raised over an incredulous expression. She giggled. "Well… okay, it… it wouldn't have been so bad if I'd known what to expect… I mean, I guess I expected… you know, but then… I never thought about what to do, once it was in my mouth…"

I grinned and kissed her again. "…You didn't have to do that, you know. I… I don't expect anything from you, Sara."

She nodded. "I know you don't and that I… didn't, but…" She twisted her lips and looked up and to the right in thought. "I want… I want to be the kind of woman you desire. I don't want you to… be disappointed or… end up wishing you were with someone else, who… who could do what you wanted for you, right away, without… hesitation or… needing instructions…" She blushed, and I found my hand at her cheek again.

"I don't desire a certain kind of woman Sara—I desire _you_, at whatever pace you feel comfortable."

She didn't answer, and after a moment, I drew in a deep breath and used the arm around her to hold her tight to me as I slid around so that our heads were facing the right direction, and then scooted us up to the pillows. I tugged the blankets out from under us and covered us up and then kissed her slowly, wanting to let it build as long as possible, to give her a taste of slow intimacy… something we hadn't had so far.

My kisses were gentle, slow, soft… inviting but not demanding, teasing. She responded in kind, letting me lead and determine the pace. I trailed my fingertips over her arm and then gently tipped her back, moving over top of her again. I traced her sides, slowly, and then found her breasts again, dragging my fingertips and enjoying feeling her shiver beneath me. My tongue slipped out again, running over her bottom lip, and she opened her mouth. I ran it over the top lip, ignoring the invitation, and she gasped softly.

The third swipe was gently into her mouth, exploring but not probing or invading… tentative. I let my thumbs circle her nipples and smiled against her lips when she hummed lightly in response. I pinched them, gently, and she gasped, arching herself up to me. My hands went back to caressing her sides, but she deepened the kiss.

I let her lead, briefly, deciding where she wanted to go, but when her hands—which had been running up and down my chest—tried to slide lower, I caught them. "…You've done enough, darling… this is for you. Lie back, close your eyes and enjoy."

My kissed moved to her neck and my fingers to the waistband of the boxers she was wearing. It was the only article of clothing she wore, so I drew it out… playing with the elastic, gently touching her through the thin cotton, running my hands up and down her thighs. Her breathing was coming harder, and she arched her hips against my hand whenever it pressed against her.

Slowly, I gripped the boxers and pulled them down her long, long legs, slipping them off her feet and starting my kisses there, up from her toes, over the top of her feet, across her ankles, and up her calves. When I reached her knees, I drew them up and then continued my progress towards her apex, down her inner thighs.

I had seen Sara naked in the shower, and after… but in the shower I'd been preoccupied, and afterwards, I'd been dazed. Now, I was in the right frame of mind to appreciate her entirely. Her frame was small, but still womanly… her waist was slender, her hips more curvy than one would guess when she was dressed in pants. I moved my face to her stomach, kissing gently across it, resting my palm, fingers down, over her.

The pressure was light, and slow, but consistent pressing and releasing, so that by the time I'd finished giving her belly button the attention it deserved, she was moving her hips in rhythm, up and down, arching against my attentions. Her hands were on the sheets clenching when she moved up, and releasing when she moved down. With my free hand, I moved one to the back of my head, and she took the cue and moved both, gripping and releasing my hair instead. I could have groaned out loud at the sensation, but the moment—her movements—everything seemed so serene. I didn't want to interrupt.

I nibbled along her hip bones, and let my fingers dip into her. Her moan was a low hum and her body trembled. The heel of my hand pressed harder against her—right above her clitoris—and her breathing sped up again, her mouth falling open. She arched against me a few more times, and then I let my fingers slide up from where they'd just encountered her wetness, to brush against the little bundle of nerves.

Her moan came louder this time, and her eyes fluttered closed, her hips rocking up more adamantly. I ran my fingertips over it a few more times, until her body was trembling at the lightest touch, and then slipped a single finger inside her before kissing my way back up her body. I kissed her lips as I started moving my finger and she moaned into my mouth. I bit her bottom lip as my thumb returned up to her most sensitive spot, and began a slow rhythm, finger in time with thumb, kissing her softly all the while, and moving to her neck when she was panting so hard that she couldn't keep kissing me back.

She was hot, and so very, very wet, and when I thought she was ready—her entire body reacting to every movement of my finger, I slid it out and slowly pushed two back inside her. The gasp this time forced her eyes wide open instead of closed, and her hands gripped my hair fiercely again. I made certain to move them slowly, letting her adjust to the width and added pressure, laying soft kisses over her face.

When her breathing was ragged again, and her hips moving in time with my hand, I let myself speed up, increasing the pressure with my thumb, pushing her closer and closer. My kisses against her skin were more urgent, but no less soft, and I could feel the muscles inside her squeezing against me. Her skin was hot, her limbs trembling, her hips arching more and more fervently every time, and her moans were becoming louder and faster.

I sped up in time with them, feeling her start to quiver, and when she went over she let out a noise that was half hum, half swoon, but loud as a scream, and her nails dug into me hard. It was the gentlest orgasm I had ever been witness too, but it was not quick… her body was wracked with it for much longer than I expected, but I kept my fingers working until she started to come down. I slowed with her, slipping my fingers out and kissing her limp, exhausted mouth one more time.

I wrapped my arms around her heaving breast, holding her tight to me, kissing her slightly damp forehead and watching her eyes flutter softly. She glanced up at me, and I kissed her lips quickly again. "…You okay, baby?" She nodded, shakily, and nuzzled her face into the crook between my neck and shoulder and let out a contented sigh.

I held her, while she was drifting to sleep, curled up in me, savoring the moment. If there were a single instant I would remember in detail for the rest of my life, it was watching this most delicate of climaxes.


	34. Chapter 34

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: Sooo, it's not a super eventful chapter. I'm kind of at a crossroads. Initially I was thinking this entire story would stay only in Grissom's POV. But I've been toying with the idea of introducing Sara's voice more as she herself becomes a stronger character. As she comes into herself, the story becomes less and less one-sided. But I don't necessarily know if adding her in now will have that effect and the meaning be clear, or if it'll be really unclear and adding Sara will just muddle what I'm doing. ...So, until I decide, I'm not sure when the next update will be.

Feel free to give your opinions--after all, you're the ones reading it. I don't think I'll agonize over it for too long. :)

In the meantime, thanks for all the reviews and enjoy the update!

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Four:

We woke up late, Sunday morning, still wrapped up in each other's arms. She smiled and hugged me tighter, yawning and stretching.

"…I can't believe I'm here…"

I raised an eyebrow. "You've woken up in my bed lots of times…"

She blushed. "Not naked and… you know."

I grin. "No… this is better." She sighed happily, but I was agitated. I warred with myself internally, briefly, and finally gave in. "I… we… Sara, I know you said that… that you wouldn't tell anyone, about this, but… but we can't even let it be suspected. This…"

"I know." She said, sincerely, and even smiled. There was something in her eyes though… If it had been another woman, I would have assumed it was expectation—she would expect to be worth more to me than the job—but I knew that wasn't Sara… she didn't think that way. If I had to define it, it might be… wistful, disbelieving hopefulness… She wanted to be worth more, but a big part of her wouldn't let her expect it.

It troubled me, because I didn't want her thinking in those terms, even with part of her mind.

But the look in her eyes was not there often. September was a blur of moments of breathless passion and sedated cuddling; if I wasn't at school, I was in one of our bedrooms. I tried to look ahead, and foresee obstacles in our way… tried to determine how one ought to remain in control intimately. I couldn't tie her up and make her beg me every time.

Well, I could. …I just didn't want to.

Sara was, as always, eager to learn. By Halloween we had done just about everything pre-sex that I could think of… and in just about any position I could think of. She was vivacious and excitable and eager to please… but I had, apparently, let her get too confident. Halloween night was spent in Sara's apartment with me out of sight while she handed out candy, because she'd never gotten to do it growing up, and once they'd stopped coming, we'd gone to bed.

She asked for a pair of my boxers to sleep in, a stack of which were now kept in her underwear drawer, and when I opened it, there was a box of condoms. Had they been opened, I might have worried… but they weren't. I turned to look at her, and she was sprawled wantonly on the bed, a crooked finger beckoning to me.

I left the condoms, but followed the finger. She came four times that night, because I wanted her to know that we didn't need sex just yet for her to be satisfied. …But for some reason, the sated look in her eyes was tinted with something else as well. I could have given in—but I wanted to be the one to set the terms for when we would make love. And because I really wanted her to be sure she was ready.

She thought she was, but on the occasions when I would settle between her thighs and rock against her, any time my penis pressed against her opening, her eyes would go wide and surprised, and there was the definite presence of fear there. I didn't want her to be afraid.

Half-way through November, she came over on a Friday night with a Cosmo version of the Kama Sutra. She thought it could give us some new positions, she told me. I allowed it—but I realized that control was quickly slipping out of my hands. At this point, abstention might be my only power. That, and I could withdraw—tell her I'm not in the mood even when she wants it.

But knowing Sara, her clever little hands would run over my body, and it would become clear in seconds that I _did_ want it.

We had Thanksgiving in my apartment, and I showed her how to cook a turkey. A week later, she told me she was going to make an appointment to get on birth control.

I argued with her… told her I didn't think it was necessary, told her about the possible health risks, side effects, social stigmas. Her response was that a pregnancy was a bigger risk, the side effects were mostly positive—and she'd like a better period, thank-you-very-much—and that there would be a larger stigma against the girl who had her professor's baby.

By Christmas time, every night we were intimate, she was begging me to make love to her.

At which point, I realized, that it was about love to her. Not sex, not the experience, not infatuation or a desire to please me… she felt that if I gave in, it would be a sign that I loved her.

Which in itself was a difficult concept. I did not consider whether or not I loved her—it wasn't a question. Of course I did, but that was irrelevant. Would confessing it put me squarely back in control, or would refusing to say it be more powerful? And if I refused to say it, should I also refuse to sleep with her, or should I consummate the relationship and leave her uncertain—I loved her because we'd made love, but did I really, because I wouldn't say it?

I had no answer, because I didn't know which would leave me in the most control. All I knew was that I felt like such a confession, while it might tie her more tightly to me, would expose a very real vulnerability. …So the outcome was really a matter of how long I could last because I gave in to her.

I wasn't feeling very confident about my odds in that scenario.

Christmas was spent at my apartment as well—we bought a tree together and several times, Sara borrowed my car while I was in class. That night there would be another present under the tree. Hank seemed to be the one who was making the haul this year—I bought him a doggy stocking full of toys, and figured that was enough. He's a dog, after all. But half of the presents that Sara showed up with had Hank's name on them…

We made grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup again, because we'd eaten that last year—our first Christmas spent together—and watched Die Hard again. After the movie, we sat on the floor by the tree, Hank's head on Sara's lap, and opened presents.

I had one from my mother that I felt awkward opening, because Sara didn't have any family presents, but she rolled her eyes at my hesitation and told me to open the damn present already. It was a new entomology book that had just been published about a month before. I made a mental note to call my mother and thank her.

We took turns opening our presents—I bought her some fuzzy spider pajamas, a romance novel series, a perfume she had liked but run out of, and a diamond tennis bracelet that she refused to take from me for nearly half an hour. She gave me a case of rare African butterflies which had probably cost her as much as the tennis bracelet cost me, a new robe, slippers to replace the ones that Hank had chewed to pieces, and a lingerie set that would fit her, but they were really for me, she assured me.

And they were. White lace bra, underwear, garter belt, and thigh-high stockings. When she put them on that night, I nearly had a heart attack.

As we were drifting to sleep that night, warm in my bed and thoroughly exhausted, she murmured against my chest that she loved me.

I didn't know what to do about it yet, so I pretended to be asleep… I didn't sleep.


	35. Chapter 35

Disclaimer: I do not own.

A/N: So, I decided to have some Sara. Her POV will be few and far between, but I think as she comes to think for herself and question the relationship more, she'll have more of a voice. :)

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Five:

_Sara:_

I told him I loved him.

I told him, and he pretended he was asleep so he wouldn't have to answer me.

We both laid awake, all night, silent and awake, and the loneliness was palpable in the air… for me, anyway. …Probably not for him.

Because he thought I was asleep.

We've been sleeping in the same bed, off and on, since before the summer apart. For over three months, we've haven't spent a single night apart. …and he still can't tell when I'm actually sleeping.

I admit it—I read too many god damned romance novels, and I'm sure that my expectation of a relationship is warped by it.

Assuming we're in a relationship… neither of us has used any sort of word to describe our situation—not girlfriend or boyfriend, not affair, not fuck buddy, not commitment or fling or casual dating.

No, that's not true—he used the word lover, that first night.

...Which isn't much of a consolation, since he seems entirely alarmed at the idea of making love to me.

But I reiterate, I don't exactly have the best concept of how a relationship works.

If it's not a fairy tale romance, an asshole groping me on a date I don't even want to be on, or my father backhanding my mother and bending her over the kitchen counter… well, I have no frame of reference.

It's entirely possible that it's normal to wait this long.

It's entirely possible that it's just… too soon to say something so serious.

It's possible that Grissom has his own hang ups. Insecurities. Secrets.

But then… I don't have any of those things that he doesn't know about. …Only because I've chosen to tell him, of course.

Maybe he needs… time.

Maybe he needs someone better in bed.

_No, no, no._ Stop thinking that way. He… he seems to enjoy everything I do. …He finishes every time.

…and, maybe he doesn't want to _decide_ to make love. Maybe he just wants it to _happen._

…We've gotten close, on occasion.

But every time it feels like it's almost happening, and he presses against me accidentally—I get so afraid that it will happen and he'll be mad at me for not stopping it or preventing it.

He'll be mad that I pushed the issue or welcomed the accident or…

…He never gets mad at me. I don't know why I worry so much about making him angry…

Maybe I don't worry about anger so much as disappointment. I fear his dissatisfaction in me. I fear his… dismissal. His boredom.

I'm afraid that he really doesn't love me, even though I try to tell myself that in real life, it's hard for some people to say… and no matter how fast I read, I can't rush him through that kind of insecurity. There's no guarantee that by the end of the book he'll have figured out his issues and confessed his love for me.

But that's okay too.

He's accepted me, bent and broken and inexperienced though I am, and I can accept it if he can never tell me that he loves me.

…If only he would show me that.

I want to share the act of love with him… look up and see more than gentleness and a desire to please me in his eyes.

That would be enough.

That would make me feel like I deserved his love, even though I probably don't.

I think I'm going to stop dropping hints. Maybe he thinks I'm only interested in sex, and he wants me to want it for the right reasons.

…And I can't tell him my reasons—he pretends not to hear that I love him.

…Maybe he _was_ sleeping. I can't be a hundred percent sure.

Maybe he never relaxed because his dreams were stressful. Maybe he had a big, romantic plan to tell me how he felt… with roses, and candlelight, and champagne, and I ruined it.

Me and my big mouth. I'm always over-talking with him.

Maybe he was pretending he hadn't heard it, so that when he does his plan… it'll still be romantic, not too little too late.

Doesn't he know that, for me… nothing he could do would be too little too late?

…Still, I was feeling disenchanted. I didn't want to keep doing half-acts of love that please but don't satisfy.

No.

That isn't fair of me.

Who am I to dictate in which way he ought to show his affections for me?

He's taking a huge risk just to be with me… in whatever capacity we're together, that is… and that should tell me something.

He needs to do things in his own time.

He's given me all the time in the world to… to adjust and to learn and to… become comfortable with our intimacy.

I can give him time if, in fact, he needs it to deal with the non-physical aspects of intimacy.

And if not—if this is all he can give me, ever… Well, then it's still the best I've ever had from the only man I think I could ever want and love the way I want and love Grissom.

…_Sara Grissom._

It has a nice ring to it.

Maybe someday… when I'm out of school and there isn't so much risk involved in a public relationship.

Maybe he'll go back to the lab and we could work together… or he could teach and I could work at the lab.

Maybe we could be travelling consultants or he could consult and I could work at the FBI or… or maybe I'd stay home with our babies.

Maybe he would stay home with them.

Maybe we could be a family… and I could have a real family, for the first time.

If all of that—my hopes for a life and a family and every dream I've ever had—rested on my tacit acceptance of whatever it was that kept him from me… then tacit acceptance would be very, very easy.

If it gave me his love… I could do anything.


	36. Chapter 36

Disclaimer: I do not own.

A/N: So I know I told you that it would be a while before you got any more smut, but adding Sara's perspective changed things. I felt like Grissom--being the superb CSI that he is--would notice her discontent and wouldn't be able to wait it out. He would feel like he needed to fix it, to remain in control, and so... this chapter was born. I know it's a little short, and mostly teasing, but I should have the next one up tonight. I've already started it!

I want to thank everyone for the amazing reviews, opinions, and anger. I love it when you're so involved that you're actually moved to anger and name-calling. :) I appreciate each and every review! Thanks again!

Enjoy!

Oh, also... the Boston Four Seasons is the only super nice hotel that I could be certain was open in 1989/the very beginning of 1990, so it's the one I chose. The rooms can be seen at www. fourseasons .com/boston/guest_rooms_and_suites/state_suite .html (obviously with spaces so you can see this website) and I'm making the leap that they would look the same back then as they do on their website now. :) Willing suspense of disbelief, and all that. Hehe. So if you want a picture in your mind's eye for where this is all taking place, there you go.

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Six:

As Christmas break progressed—a time which I thought would be perfectly blissful, with no work and school to drag us away from each other—I felt a seething sort of panic creep up on me, quiet and calm, if panic can ever be described as calm. She had stopped begging me to make love to her. She'd only been doing it for two weeks, but up to this point, she had only become more aggressive in her desires. Becoming less adamant that our relationship progress did not strike me as a positive sign.

She had even stopped initiating intimacy… which meant that if I wanted it, I had to start it. Which wasn't a problem—in truth, it put me in more control than I had been since our intimacy began—but it worried me. Did she not desire me anymore? Had she grown tired of the dangerous nature of our relationship? Or was that just it—she had expected it to be dangerous, forbidden fruit and all of that… and now it was not living up to her expectations?

And there was the matter of her whispered words of love.

At the time, I had thought if I pretended to sleep, I would either know what to say when they came up again, or they simply…wouldn't. And they hadn't, and I was upset by it. I wanted her to tell me when I was awake, even though I still didn't know how to respond. I wanted her to be completely mine. …Which brought me back to the concept of those words as a means of control. Control which I had allowed to slip, and now she was withdrawing from me, exactly as I had always known she would.

But I still had time to remedy the situation… I had to find a way to keep her with me, keeping her wanting me, desperate for me… the way she used to be. The way I was for her.

The answer, of course, was simple: It was hardly a stretch to determine that the way in which our first time occurred would say a lot about the power structure of our relationship. And if I could make it perfect—and in the process, make her more thoroughly _mine_—then everything would be perfect again.

While she slept one morning, I left a note saying the head of the anthropology department wanted a meeting with the teachers—as school would be starting up in a week—and that I hadn't wanted to wake her. And then I made arrangements.

I took a cab to my office, and made the arrangements from there—writing a letter to Sara, calling the Boston Four Season's and intending to book the best suite they had. But when the Presidential Suite was described to me, I changed my mind.

Not for monetary concerns—I did not make an extreme amount of money, but I had hardly ever spent what I made, and my mother had insisted I receive the payout from my father's life insurance when he died, since she could more than support us with the money she made from the gallery and the sale of her paintings. It had been left mostly untouched to this point, as I'd managed to get a number of scholarships to put myself through college, but I was not opposed to spending a small portion of it if the need arose.

No, I changed my mind because the room contained a full dining room with a chandelier, a piano, a full bathtub. It was like the small, second home of a visiting King. And while Sara deserved that kind of luxury, I had the feeling that it would only make her feel uncomfortable, which I had no desire to do. I ended up booking a State Suite—several rooms, including two bathrooms, and a massive King sized bed. Nice enough that she would know how important I believed the occasion to be, but not so much that she would feel out-of-place.

I took another cab to pick up the essentials—silk rose petals, in white and red, for the bed and around the Jacuzzi tub, and three dozen of each in vases. I had to pay extra for them to be delivered that day, on the next shipment, but that was fine. I chose white and red because of their specific meanings, even though I wasn't sure whether Sara would know them. It wasn't exactly common knowledge, but Sara knew far more than anyone else I had ever known. She was brilliant.

Red roses meant passion and love, white indicated innocence and new beginnings.

Yet another cab took me to purchase white candles—several bags full—and an assortment of bubble baths. Another took me to mail the letter. I paid even more than I had for the flowers to have it delivered to her by that afternoon, and I hurried out to the same cab to have it take me to check in at the Four Seasons to get ready for the night.

The room was beautiful, and I wasted no time setting up the candles and then showering quickly, wanting to be fresh for the evening and to make sure I would be able to last as long as she deserved tonight. I called down for room service, requesting it at ten to six… because I had told Sara to arrive, with the white lingerie that had been one of my Christmas presents, at six. The flowers came just before five, and I spent the half hour following moving vases around the room, unable to decide exactly the right effect. I moved to the door and pretended to be walking in for the first time, several times, until I thought it was perfect.

At five thirty, I spread the silk rose petals on the bed and in a trail to the tub that was big enough for both of us, leaving the bubble bath on the edge. I toyed with the idea of running a bath for her to be ready when she arrived, but the food would be here, and the water would be cold by the time we'd finished eating. I finished lighting the candles as a knock came to the door. Room service.

I pulled it inside and checked over everything, just to make sure. There was champagne cooling and two delicate glass flutes beside it, their stems a twirling pattern that would make them look all the more magical when filled with the light, bubbly liquid. The meal was pasta—a favorite of Sara's—with strawberries and melted chocolate for dessert, something I knew we would both enjoy.

But now that everything was set—now that I had nothing else to concern myself with perfecting—I was unbelievably nervous. Would she find this display cheesy? Over the top? Silly? Not enough? …Would she enter to tell me that she'd realized in the course of the last week that she didn't really want me, and gently let me down before leaving me all alone? Would she simply not show up at all?

The knock on the door a moment later sent my pulse well above 95—the rate at which I realized I was far too angry for my own good. I drew a deep breath, attempting to still my shaking hands, and moved over to open the door.


	37. Chapter 37

Disclaimer: I do not own.

A/N: I wrote as fast as I could, Nonnie. Hope it pleases! Thanks for the reviews! More would be loved! I'm not sure if I'll update again tonight, but if I do it won't be for a few hours. Just so my lovely readers know. :)

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Seven:

I opened the door slowly, and there was my Sara, breathtakingly beautiful as always. She had the keys to my car clutched in her hand, and her backpack at her side—but the rest of her looked like she was headed to a cocktail party. She was wearing a spaghetti-strapped black dress which I was certain was the one she'd described to me on our faux-date so long ago, but even in my imagination it hadn't looked like this.

It was low cut, just enough to reveal the delicate swell of her breasts, and tight enough that I was certain I would be able to see her nipples if the dress had been any other color but black. It was fitted to her hips, and despite the color, I was still fairly certain I could see the hollow of her belly button beneath the flimsy-looking fabric. Below her hips it was flowing, almost whimsical, stopping midway down her thigh… long enough to be respectable but short enough to have me struggling to draw in breath, even though I'd held her naked body to my chest only that morning.

And below that wavering hemline, were the longest legs I had even had the pleasure of touching, looking even longer and more defined because of the heels she wore—not the closed toe, business-looking heels she'd worn for our mock trial, but open-toed and strappy, revealing perfectly pink toenails. They hadn't been painted this morning.

I swallowed hard, still nervous despite the smile that had crossed my face simply upon sight of her. She had her hair up in a mess of curls, the way she had the first time she'd kneeled on my bed, on her birthday, and I couldn't help but tremble a little. Tonight was so very important… and she had come. She had come, dressed up, with a back pack full of what I was sure was the lingerie that had been my Christmas present, which I had requested she bring, and a hesitant, sweet little smile on lips I had witnessed release the most stirring and alarming of obscenities.

I opened the door wider when I realized that I had no power of speech, and she stepped into the room, dropping her smile for a look of surprise when she saw the candles and the rose bouquets that led straight through the living room and past a set of French doors to the rose-petal covered King-sized bed. I let the door close, and the soft catch of it against the frame had her spinning to me, with tears in her eyes, and embracing me more tightly than she ever had.

"Oh Grissom! …I can't believe you did this for me! I… Oh, I… I don't think I've ever been so happy."

I felt warmth rush through me and pressed her tightly to my body. I wanted to tell her that I loved her, then and there, with the same kind of urgency I used to feel when I wanted to kiss her and knew that I couldn't. It was only a paralyzing fear that took hold of me at the very thought of verbalizing such weakness that stopped me, and then she pulled back from our embrace and kissed me with such passion that all thought left my mind.

She was pulling me back to the bedroom, inch by inch, and there was no way I had the presence of mind to stop her, when she caught one of her heels on the carpet and stumbled, and I just barely caught her before she fell to the ground. She blushed profusely, something she had not done nearly as often as usual lately, and I was able to get my bearings again.

"Sara, honey… we have all night. Let's eat first… and then _I_ can drag _you_ into the bedroom…"

She giggled and blushed again, kissing me passionately but pulling away instead and glancing at the room service cart. "Mmm, now that you mention it, it smells amazing!"

I led her over to sit at the little table for two near the door, and brought each of our plates over, along with silverware and the champagne flutes. I made a separate trip for the champagne and popped it loudly, reveling in the giggle that accompanied it before pouring some for each of us. She sighed deeply and looked into my eyes as I sat down, and her expression was so unreadable I found myself nervous again.

"…What?"

She just smiled and sighed a deep, wistfully contented sort of sigh. "I just… I feel like you pulled this whole night out of my dreams… everything, every detail… It's so perfect, Grissom."

I felt so full in that moment—so overwhelmed with emotion—that I thought I would never want for anything again. I lifted my glass to her. "To the perfect night."

"To love." She said, boldly, and the double meaning flickered in her dark eyes, making me breathless again.

We ate happily, laughing and enjoying each other's company, but with a sense of urgency permeating everything. We wanted to hurry and finish so that the night could truly begin… but I restrained myself, insisting that she at least try a strawberry, despite her protests that she was full from our meal. I dipped it in the chocolate and fed it to her, and then leaned in, brushing my tongue over the side of her mouth to capture the line of chocolate that had dripped there, before taking her whole mouth in a kiss.

I had meant it to be gentle, but the minute I had tasted the chocolate on her skin I was filled with such a feverish intensity that nothing about the kiss could possibly be gentle. I was already half-standing, and with a little difficulty, I maneuvered out from between the table and my chair, moving to stand before her and kiss her more deeply. Her hands moved into the hair at the nape of my neck, and then she was standing, and I could not have told you if I was pulling or she was pushing, but the bedroom was fast approaching.

The back of my knees hit the end of the bed, and I sat down abruptly, trying to pull her into my lap. She straddled me, but stood up almost immediately as the corners of the foot board dug into her legs when she did, and frowned. I stood up instead, lifting her up instead, a hand beneath her knees and around her back, and laid her gently on the bed and the rose petals and took a moment simply to take in that she was there, with me, wanting me… loving me.

Because there was clearly love in her eyes, and though I hated to admit it, I could feel it there in mine as well, just below the surface. I swallowed hard. "You are… so very, very beautiful, Sara."

She blushed, and I moved to the end of the bed again, taking my time to unbuckle her heels and pull her feet, one at a time, from their strappy confines, letting the shoes drop to the floor. I moved up her body then, letting my palms caress her legs from ankle to thigh, from hips to diaphragm, wrist to shoulder, cheeks to intertwined in her hair. I kissed her then, not aggressively, but still with every ounce of passion I possessed, and she moaned beneath me, her long legs wrapped around to hook her ankles around my calves and begin to slide up and down them.

I trembled, my hands slid from her silky soft locks to tug impatiently at the straps of her dress. She pulled from me, breaking the kiss, and gave me an intoxicating grin before rolling beneath me, exposing her back and the long zipper down it to my eager hands. I straddled her hips and laid gentle kisses across her shoulders while I slowly, slowly unzipped the dress. My lips moved in to claim each new inch of her back as it was revealed, stopping just as the top of black lace panties became visible.

It reminded me that I had intended her to wear the white lingerie—it felt fitting, as I was certain that she had intended the outfit to entice me into making love to her—but I didn't want to give her the chance to change. I wanted to let the heat that was flowing through my body consume me… consume us… I wanted to have her.

I spread the sides of her dress and she helped me, wriggling her arms out of the straps and pushing the dress down. The sides of her breasts as they pressed against the covers and the petals were so enticing that I couldn't help but stop to run my fingertips across them before tugging her dress the rest of the way down her body and off her legs. She rolled over immediately, fire in her dark eyes and a look of unbridled passion on her face.

The minute I was above her again she was tugging me down to her, covering my face in hot little kisses while her hands raced through the buttons on my shirt, getting about half of them before getting so frustrated that she simply pulled it over my head, trapping my arms briefly and causing a startled chuckle to escape my lips while I sat up to free myself. By the time I'd removed the shirt, my belt was undone and her lithe fingers were unbuttoning my pants.

This was happening too quickly… I had wanted our first time to be slow. I pulled back from her, in an attempt to do just that—slow things down—but she merely took the opportunity to get out from under me, kneeling before me and tugging the pants down as far as she could in the position I was in. Her palm pressed against me through my boxers, and I groaned, using every ounce of self-control in my being to catch her hand and stop the movement.

"Sara…" I drew in a deep breath, looking at her through heavy-lidded eyes. Her lips were swollen, her eyes bright, her cheeks flushed. I had to swallow and look away to regain said self-control. "I, uh… let's… let's slow down. I don't… I don't want our… our first time to be… rushed." I placed my hands on either side of her face and drew her to me in a kiss that was slow and long and languid and her hands fell away from me, sliding lazily up my chest again, to cradle my face in her own hands.

I let a hand slide down her back, and then eased her down again, resting her head in the soft pillows and covering her body with my own. Her legs rose again and her feet pushed my pants the rest of the way down my legs, where I kicked the off. We were doing the same things, but the pace was different… not so urgent, not so demanding.

My hands found her perfect breasts, running over them and delighting in the feel of them for a moment, before pinching her nipples gently, just enough to elicit a low, sensuous moan. She writhed beneath me—but it was a slow movement, gentle even in its impatient longing, and I felt lightheaded. Never had I wanted anyone as badly as I wanted Sara in this moment, and that included every other moment in my life that I had desired her.

I let my hands move over her stomach again, smiling against her mouth as the sensitive muscles in her stomach twitched as my fingertips grazed them, and hooked my thumbs into the top of her underwear, scooting it down, inch by inch and eventually moving my mouth to her neck so that my hands could move the material further down her legs.

She kicked her legs slowly, working them the rest of the way down, and I let my right hand trail back up her thigh, waiting for them to still. When her underwear had been successfully removed, I gently eased her legs apart, parting her gently and slipping a finger into her warmth. She moaned softly—she was so wet that it made me draw in a deep, shuddering breath—and the moan itself was almost a whimper.

"Griss… I… I don't want to wait. I… I just want to feel you. Not your hand. Not this time."

I kissed her lips softly, my head reeling with her words. I could hardly see straight. "I just want to make sure you're ready, Sar'-Bear…" I pulled the finger out and pushed two back in. She arched up, but the moan was a whimper again.

"I'm ready, Griss… I'm so ready."

In my head, I had planned to make her finish before we made love… to make sure that she would experience the least amount of pain possible. But I did not have the ability to deny her when she spoke to me that way… so I pulled my hand from her, and slid between her legs easily, pressing myself against her hot center. I groaned at the contact, but she drew in a deep breath, as if she hadn't been breathing fully before the contact.

I pushed myself up, holding my weight on my arms, and lined myself up to her body. The head of my penis was snug against her and I felt waves of anticipation rolling through me, that light-headed feeling overwhelming me again. I pressed against her, and slipped just the tiniest bit inside her, and we both gasped out loud, her hands clutched my shoulders, and I dug my nails into the sheets. I trembled, and l looked deeply into her eyes, hoping against hope that I wouldn't see the fear I usually saw there.

I saw only love, only devotion, only passion and desire.

I slid slowly, gently inside her, keeping our eyes locked together, watching as she grit her teeth and drew in a breath through them. She kept her eyes open though, unblinkingly staring into mine. She was so tight, so hot, so close around me… and I felt a strange sense of completeness. Like a piece of the puzzle finding its way into the whole.

Once fully inside, I lowered myself onto her, and moved my arms so that I could brace my weight on my forearms and then kissed her softly. "Are you okay, darling?"

She nodded, her teeth still clenched. When I didn't move, I felt her relax a little. "I… I'm fine. It hurt, but… not as bad as I was expecting."

My lips twisted. "I didn't want it to hurt at all… If I'm made you come, first…"

"No! No, Grissom, I… this is perfect. So perfect. Please… I don't want you to regret a single moment."

I smiled and kissed her again. "I won't, baby. I just worry that…"

"Don't." She shook her head, and gripped my shoulders. "…Make love to me, Grissom."

I drew a deep breath, and slowly withdrew and slid back inside her. She didn't grit her teeth this time, but her eyes betrayed that it still hurt a little. I continued, slow and gentle, watching as with each stroke the pain became less prominent in her eyes. Her breathing picked up, and I buried my face in her neck, kissing and biting at her skin, hoping to add to the pleasure and take away the pain that much quicker.

She moaned softly, and her hands released my shoulders, sliding around my neck and holding me tightly, her hips struggling to match my rhythm. I kissed her lips again, and looked her in the eyes, my breathing already coming out in pants. "Does it… still hurt?"

She shook her head. "No, it… it feels so…" She drew in a breath and let it go in a rush, her eyelids fluttering. "…like I'm whole. It feels like I never knew I was missing something… and now… I'm not anymore."

I swallowed hard, feeling emotion well up in me. I sped up a little, and she moaned louder. I let my weight down on her, sliding my hands down to her hips, which were still struggling to meet my thrusts. I held them, moving her in time with me, and then we were both moaning, and I felt heat racing through me, burning me and burning me, up and down my limbs and through my spine, making me breathless with the intensity of it.

I was getting close, despite the preparations I'd made, and clenched my jaw to hold myself back, letting go of her hips to hold myself up again, letting my thrusts become more powerful. I needed her to come before me. This first time, I probably couldn't give her more than one, though I wanted to… but at the last, she needed to go first. I had a moment of desperation—believing that I would soon lose control, and she wasn't there yet—and then I felt her nails on the back of my neck again, fingers entwined in my curls, and she tightened around me.

I groaned out loud, gripping the sheets again, holding myself back with every fiber of my being, rocking and rocking against her, praying that she go quickly, because I couldn't last. And then her body starting pumping around me, her nails dug in deeper, and a scream ripped from her throat like nothing I'd ever heard before. Restraint flew out the window, and I was pounding into her with abandon, and it took not a second for me to fly into nothingness, lights exploding before my eyes, emptying myself entirely into her, even as she was still going.

I collapsed against her, panting and sweaty and half out of my mind, and she wrapped her arms tightly around my shoulders, her breathing just as ragged, her eyelids closed and still fluttering, her mouth open in exhaustion. When I had the presence of mind to do so, I tried to lift myself off her, but she tightened her arms around me, holding me tight to her.

"No… I want to feel you."

"I'll crush you, Sara."

She shook her head, her eyes still closed. "No. …No, you won't. Please… just let me feel you."

I gave in, burying my face in the crook of her neck and breathing in deeply. I could not imagine a more perfect first time for us… I just hoped she felt the same.


	38. Chapter 38

Disclaimer: I do not own.

A/N: Alright, last for the night. I'm headed to bed! Thanks for the reviews and I hope you enjoy! :)

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Eight:

She slept, and I dozed, briefly. Not a real sleep, but the kind of half-wakefulness that has you sitting up every fifteen minutes to check the time, because you don't really want to sleep. It was early—only 8:30, so I was hopeful that in a few hours she would wake up and we might do it again. I wanted to use the tub… and if Sara would be about the sex the way she'd been with every other intimacy we'd discovered together, she would be eager to try it in as many ways as possible.

Anticipating that eagerness had a familiar coiling feeling flickering in my lower stomach, and I grinned. Before Sara, I had been about to go once or twice in a night… three was a rare, fantastic evening that had me thinking I was a god. …I could think of only once, to be truthful. But with her, I was insatiable. Between the first two, I needed ten to fifteen minutes. Between the second and third, maybe an hour. Third and forth an hour and a half to two. I knew, of course, that it was always harder to go again after sex as opposed to something else, but still… I knew that if she woke again, I would be able to keep up with her, if she wanted...

And I sincerely hoped that she wanted to.

I spent the time in bed, drifting in and out, imagining exactly what would happen if she did wake up again tonight. She had always liked being on top when fooling around… and I planned to use the Jacuzzi in one way or another. The shower had an entire wall full of sprayers, which I thought could be rather interesting if the right amount of ingenuity were applied. And then there were the positions we hadn't tried in fooling around, because they were rather less effective without penetration.

I didn't know how she would feel about anything from behind, but thus far she had hardly seemed unwilling to try new things.

I stretched luxuriously, delighting in the delicious ache in my muscles. No matter what else I had done with Sara, nothing had made me feel like this. And connecting with her—becoming one with her—had been the most amazing thing I'd ever done. Even she had described it in the same way I had felt—like completion.

No other woman had made me feel that way. Ever.

It was around ten that she started stirring in her sleep—a sure sign that she would be waking soon. The last half hour of sleep, for Sara, always started this way. I disentangled myself from her slowly, easing out of bed and then glancing back at her to make sure she was still sleeping soundly. I grabbed the matches I'd left in the bedside table drawer and moved to the bathroom, lighting the candles in there which had thus far been neglected, and I was pleased to see that the rose petals had remained undisturbed.

I ran warm water, and put several capfuls of bubble bath under the stream, testing the water to make sure it wasn't too hot, and then glanced back at Sara, making sure she was still asleep, and closed the door to use the restroom. I reminded myself to not be too clingy when she woke up, because she would need to do the same, and I was likely to be so excited with my bubble bath idea that I wouldn't think of such things.

I washed my hands, reopened the door, and was pleased to find her still asleep. I put two fluffy white towels beside the tub, laid the bathmat on the floor below the tub, and then remembered seeing bathrobes in the closet. I crept back out to the living room and pulled them out of the closet by the door, and brought her backpack into the bedroom as well. I wanted the lingerie on hand, just in case.

I laid the robes across the chair in the bedroom, and drew in a deep breath, impatient for her to wake now that I had everything set up. Then, I remembered the uneaten strawberries and chocolate, and the champagne we'd only used two glasses of. I moved out, grateful I had placed the bottle back in ice, and moved it all into the bathroom to rest on the tile beside the tub where I had rested the towels. I rinsed out the flutes, re-plugged in the mini fondue to melt the chocolate again, and then turned abruptly at the sound of rustling sheets.

She was waking up. I moved back in the room just as her eyes flickered open and I smiled, slipping back into bed with her.

"…Where were you?"

I kissed the top of her head and then her lips. "Running a bath for you… it should be about done. You always move around more, when you're waking up… I figured you might be sore, and I thought a bubble bath would help."

Her eyes were soft, and she kissed me deeply, passionately. "Thank you… for everything, tonight."

I smiled. "Why don't you head in there, get in the tub, and I'll clean up the candles and the plates in the living room?" I suggested, mindful that she'd probably need a minute in the bathroom. "I'll come join you in the tub in a minute."

She kissed me again, beaming, and got out of bed completely naked and moved to the bathroom. I had seen her naked a number of times, but I never seemed to tire of watching her slender, lithe body bared to me with complete trust. I sighed in contentment, and slid out as well, moving out to the living room and piling our supper dishes on the room service cart and pushing it towards the door. Once we finished off the strawberries, chocolate and champagne, I'd put the robe on and push it into the hallway to be taken away.

Then I picked up the candles, discarding the ones that hadn't put themselves out in their own wax and had ended up melting down to almost nothing. The ones that were useable, however, I brought into the bedroom, finding extra space for them. There wasn't such a thing as too much candlelight, really.

The bathroom door opened again as I was entering the bedroom to place the candles, and I watched out of the side of my eye as she moved up the steps to the tub, turning the faucet off as it finally finished filling, and stuck her perfect toes into the water, testing it, before stepping in entirely and letting her body sink in. I gave her a few moments, and then moved in, stopping in the doorway to look at her. Bubbles were up to her breasts, and she'd piled the hair that had fallen in our lovemaking and in her sleep back up on her head, and the heat from the water was already making her cheeks slightly pink.

"Can I join you?"

She smiled. "I was expecting as much…"

I moved it, climbing much less gracefully into the tub than she had, but her eyes were still riveted on my body, making me feel much more manly than might have truly been warranted. At first, I sat across from her, near the champagne and strawberries. The chocolate was melting, but still looked a little thick, so I passed her a flute and left mine resting on the side of the tub, instead letting my hands slide beneath the water to find her legs.

I tugged on one of them, getting her to lift it and let me take her foot into my lap and rub it beneath the water. She groaned softly, leaning her head against the edge of the tub and lifting her other foot into my lap. I chuckled and rubbed them, letting her relax for a few minutes, and then moved my massage up her calves. She groaned again.

When I was finished, I found her hand and tugged her gently to my end of the tug, to lie back against my chest. She sighed deeply and I dipped the strawberries, feeding them to her over her shoulder, and then let my hands roam freely over her body under the water when we'd finished them. My touches started slow and soft—sweet caresses and lingering brushes.

She leaned back against me harder when I did something she liked, turning her head towards me and rubbing her forehead gently against my jaw. I often came back to these moments, touching where she clearly wanted to be touched, dragging my nails up her inner thighs, sliding fingertips beneath her breasts, brushing my palms along the curve of her ass between my legs.

Her moans started soft and slow, but within minutes they were louder, and her body was pressing back against me feverishly, her hands struggling to wedge themselves between our bodies to reach the erection I had pressed tightly against her back. Getting frustrated, she pulled herself forward, turning to face me and straddling my waist. I groaned at the contact and she grinned.

"…Have you ever done it in water?"

I almost laughed at her use of the phrase 'done it,' but restrained myself. I smiled. "In a lake, actually… not very sanitary… and cold. It was in Minnesota. I had a feeling this will be a lot better…"

Her brow wrinkled. We had only very rarely discussed my prior sexual history, and in very vague terms. "Who… who were you… with?"

I put my hands on her hips. "…Do you really want me talking about other women right now, honey?"

She shook her head, but the wrinkle remained. I sighed. "She was a woman I had known at UCLA—she'd been in a lot of my bio classes. I was working for the Hennepin county crime lab, and she was up visiting family. We had too many drinks at her family's lake cabin, decided to go skinny dipping, and make a bad decision."

The wrinkle remained. "So, she… you hardly knew her, right? I mean…"

I kissed her. "Honey, she meant nothing to me."

The wrinkle eased, but did not disappear. "And… I… I mean something to you, right?"

I pulled her down to me and kissed her with everything I had. "Sara, my sweet, you mean everything to me. …Think about the differences, between you and her. I cared so little for her that I had sex with her after not having seen her for years, in a lake, under the influence of alcohol. I didn't see her again after the awkward parting the next morning. With you… I've spent more than a year being your friend, trying to restrain my feelings for you. I… I wouldn't make love to you before you were ready and… before we, as a couple, were ready… and I made sure it happened in a way that was romantic and special, because you deserve that much."

The wrinkle finally vanished. She kissed me deeply again. "I'm sorry Griss. I… You mean everything to me too." She rose up and then blushed, uncertain about how to go about making love while on top.

I held myself still, and guided her over me, flattening my body out to facilitate the union before sitting up straight again. She gasped a little as she slid over me and I frowned. "Does it hurt, honey?"

She shook her head. "No… not really. I'm just a little…"

"Sore?" She nodded. "We don't have to—"

"I want to!" She insisted, her eyes almost desperate.

"…Okay. Go slow, honey…"

She flashed me a smile, and started to move back and forth against me, making me start to breath heavier almost immediately. As she worked up to go faster, the water around us started to splash over the sides, and she stopped, frowning again. I chuckled, grasping along the bottom of the tub to find the drain and pulled it up, letting the water level lower so that it was half-way down our bodies.

"Better?"

She grinned, and started moving again, sending waves of heat through me. The water still splashed over the side, but there was much less going over the edge, and it made it easier to ignore. I let my hands find her breasts, holding and pinching and running them under my palms, leaving her gasping, her head bowing down to rest on my shoulder, her knees squeezing my thighs tightly.

She had trouble keeping up a rhythm, so while it felt amazing, it seemed like both of us were having trouble getting closer. I let my hands slide down her body, gripping her hips and guiding them in a steady rhythm for the second time tonight. And bringing her steadily to me, making sure she was centered so her clitoris would rub against my pubic bone, I pushed us forward.

Her hands that had been braced around my shoulders wrapped around my neck, and her elbows pressed against my shoulder blades with each movement against me. I felt the familiar heat coursing through me, the lightheadedness that could only be brought on by my Sara, and the coiling feeling deep within me, tightening and tightening, like a spring about to be released.

I kept one hand on her hips, though she was controlling the pace again, and let the other slide between us to more directly stimulate her. I hadn't thought she was very close, but the minute my fingers pressed against her, she was shaking and clenching around me, her arms tight around my shoulders, her forehead falling to rest against mine as the pleasure played across her face.

I gripped her hips tighter when her thrusts began to slow as her orgasm gripped her, rocking her against me myself, to prolong it as long as possible. She came down slowly, panting against my cheeks, and I let her hips go, reveling in the look of pure bliss on her face, and in the knowledge that I had put it there. She struggled to open her eyes and I took advantage of the brief pause to kiss along the line of her jaw, over her cheekbones, on the tip of her nose and the line of her brow.

She sighed. "Grissom… I'm sorry… I…"

I chuckled. "Don't be sorry, baby. I want you to come as many times as you can. …Are you tired? Do you want to stop?"

She shook her head slowly. "No, but… my legs hurt… and the water is getting cold."

I lifted her hips until I had slid from her body and then kissed her softly. "Then we'll finish in bed… if you want to. You can just go to sleep too, you know…"

She shook her head, not seeming sleepy, merely exhausted. "No… no, I… I feel like I don't ever want to stop making love to you."

I smiled and slid her to one side of me, getting up and pulling the drain, and then picking up a towel and spreading it out in front of me. She stood on somewhat shaky legs and I folded her into it, lifting her out of the tub and sending her out to the bed. I wrapped my own towel around my waist and blew out the candles, picking up the chocolate and champagne, carrying it out, and placing it on the cart. I glanced out the peek hole, and then opened the door and glanced around.

Seeing no one, I pushed the cart out and closed the door quickly, wanting to return to bed and my Sara as quickly as possible. I turned off lights as I went, and stopped in the doorway to the bedroom, taking in the sight of a sleeping Sara, wrapped in a towel and curled up in bed. I felt like I ought to be disappointed—maybe even unfairly angry—because that would have been my reaction in the past.

But looking at her curled in bed, looking simultaneously child-like and thoroughly sated, I could only feel deep affection for her. I had clearly worn her out… and I could not fault her for that. If anything, I just wished she could have come once more before she went to bed. I curled up beside her, pulling her gently to my chest, and listening to her soft breathing. At the very least, this meant that if she woke up for a round three, I wouldn't have to wonder if I could do it…


	39. Chapter 39

Disclaimer: I do not own.

A/N: Okay, several things. :)

I realized that in the last chapter, first paragraph, I wrote "I wanted to use the tongue..." when I meant "I wanted to use the tub..." Hehe. I'll fix it, but just so you know, that was what was intended.

Next, Sara is on birth control. I intended that to be clear, and then when I went back and checked what I wrote, I only said that she was going to make an appointment. When I realized, I thought about throwing in a birth control fight, but I couldn't imagine Sara not telling him before it happened, and that's assuming that Grissom wouldn't have monitored her whereabouts enough to know whether she'd went to the appointment and taken a pill every day. ...I see him as too obsessive about her to have missed that.

However, that being said, birth control pills are not 100% effective. So you can't rule anything out. ...She's eighteen, she's new to taking pills every day... there's a chance she could forget. :) Or not. Hehe.

Aaand, there's probably only one more smut chapter after this one, for a while, and then it's back to actual plot! :) For the record, I find gratuitous sex scenes imperative to the plot in certain stories...this one included. But you know what I mean.

Okay. Thanks to all my beloved reviewers, who make me crazy happy all day. Hope you enjoy. ...I think the next chapter will be in the shower, possibly. And reviews always make me write faster. It's a curse. :P

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Nine:

_Sara:_

_I woke up slowly, squinting in the washed out light of very early morning. _

_I was sore. _

_My limbs were heavy and tense, and my eyes felt heavy. _

_I blinked a few times, and rolled into Grissom's arms, hiding from the light in his chest. _

_Reliving the previous night. _

_My eyes shot open. _

_I had fallen asleep, after the tub…_

_I pulled back to look at him, sleeping peacefully, no hint of a frown on his face. _

_I relaxed. _

_For a man who was rather enigmatic when awake, he always wore his emotions in sleep. _

_If he were upset, at the very least there would be a wrinkle in his forehead. _

_I closed my eyes again, breathing his scent in deeply. _

_Last night had been… so perfect. _

_Beautiful. _

_Amazing beyond my wildest dreams. _

_And… maybe I'd been wrong. _

_About everything. _

_I was upset that after so long, he couldn't tell if I was sleeping or not… But he'd started running the bath when I was waking up. He said he knew that I move around more, when I'm waking up. _

_I was upset that I didn't know exactly what we were. Last night, he'd used the phrase, "us, as a couple"._

_I couldn't help the smile that stretched across my face then. We were a couple. There was reassurance there… commitment… dedication. _

_I was upset that I didn't know how he felt about me—and while he didn't use the L-word, he told me I meant everything to him. _

_And I had seen love in his eyes, last night. _

_I was upset we hadn't made love—he'd told me exactly why he wanted to wait… and he'd made it perfect for me. For us. _

_I pulled back from him then, contemplating his sleeping features happily. He was such a beautiful man. _

_And he'd been so perfect last night… and I'd fallen asleep on him. _

_I glanced at the clock—it was just before eight o'clock. Check out wasn't until noon… _

_We had time. _

_I slipped out from his grasp and watched as he rolled onto his back, snoring lightly. _

_And he was standing at attention. _

_That had been the most amusing discovery, when I'd started sharing Grissom's bed—before and after we were intimate—that he usually woke up… hard. _

_Just running my eyes over his body had thoughts filling my mind, and as quietly as I could, I slid my hands down my body, teasing myself gently. _

_And when I felt like I would be wet enough… I crept over him, moving between his legs, and straddled him slowly. _

_I took him in hand gently, held him straight up, positioned myself over him, and slid down over him. _

* * *

I woke up to heat. Tight, wet, pulsing, unimaginable heat.

And there was Sara, smiling down at me, her naked body bathed in a silvery sheen of light from the beginning of a winter sunrise, moving against me.

I groaned, letting my head fall back on the pillow, hardly awake enough to understand that I wasn't dreaming, much less that I was waking up to find myself buried in the most amazing woman I had ever known.

My eyes flickered open again and my hands traced her legs from knee to thigh and then up to her waist, not guiding, simply feeling her skin as she moved under my hands. I was slowly becoming more aware, shivers sliding down my arms and a swooping feeling somewhat like adrenaline moving down my spine.

"Sara… honey… Oh…"

She grinned. "I'm sorry… I fell… asleep…" She panted, pressing her palms squarely to my chest to brace herself. "I… hope this… makes up for it."

I moaned out loud, practically a growl, my toes curling with the sensations running through me. "Baby, you… you didn't have to…Oh god, Sara…"

She tightened herself around me, causing me to gasp and to dig my nails into her hips. She giggled. "Do you like that…?" She stopped moving back and forth, and tightened and released her muscles several times. My eyes rolled back in my head and tremors rolled through me.

"Oh, Sara… the things you do to me." She started to do it again, but I knew it wasn't doing enough for her. I pulled her down to me, keeping our chests flush together, and rocked up against her. She gasped.

"…I feel so close to you… like I can feel… all of you…"

We moved against each other then, all hands and mouths and sounds. She ran her fingers through my hair, gripped my shoulders, kissed me and my neck and sucked on my earlobe. She panted and moaned and gasped and whispered soft exclamations. And I was lightheaded again, the room spinning, caught up in the feel of her breasts as they moved against my chest, her nipples pressing insistently against me, her thighs gripping me, her hips rocking against me.

It was amazing, but neither of us were getting any closer. We were caught in an amazing place of stasis, stuck in pure joy, but eventually it had to end. And I wanted her to end explosively.

I rolled her over, so I was on top again and kissed her deeply, slowly pumping into her. "You, honey… are so amazing. So… god… so amazing." She grinned and wrapped her legs around my waist, pulling me even deeper into her. I shuddered.

I couldn't help it, I sped up, holding her shoulders to make my thrusts more powerful, rocking and rocking into her. She was panting, her eyes closing, her nails digging into my back, whimpering moans falling from her open mouth like music. I knew she was close, and the knowledge had me trembling.

"Sara… Sara… use… fuck, use your hand, honey…"

Her eyes opened, and she looked confused. "On… you? I… how…?"

I let out a startled laugh, despite the moan that had been building in the back of my throat. "No, baby… on you… touch yourself…"

She blushed but complied, forcing her hand between our bodies and finding her clitoris, rubbing against it. I rocked into her harder, listening as her moans increased in frequency and pitch, until she was lifting her hips to meet mine, and the hand between us was frantic, and then half-moaning screams were spilling from her lips like water, and she was tight…so very tight around me, pumping me, her body frozen in an arch against me while I continued to push into her, and then she was shuddering, falling to the bed, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks.

I slowed, kissing each eyelid softly and giving her a brief moment to breath, and then lifted my upper body, hooking my arms under her knees and moving her legs over my shoulders. I leaned forward again, and her eyes opened, still dazed, but showing surprise. I grinned.

"You're very flexible, Sara…"

I thrust into her. She actually jumped as I connected, another moan ripped from her lips. I thrust again. "Oh… god… oh, fuck, Grissom…"

"Does it feel good, baby?" I thrust again. She gasped.

"Oh… yes… you're so… so deep…" She was panting, breathless.

"Do you want me to stop…?" I thrust again.

"No! …No, don't stop…" I thrust. "God! No… never stop… never st—" Again. "Ohhh, God."

I picked up my pace, closing my eyes and letting her rush of expletives rain over me as I felt myself getting closer. I thrust harder, faster, rapidly approaching my peak and anxious to get her there again too. Because I was so close. So very, very close. My toes were curling, I was sweating with the effort to continue and to not let go, and my arms were trembling.

And then I felt something. I opened my eyes to see her touching herself again, without my direction. I flew over the edge, into extreme ecstasy, screaming like I had never, ever screamed in sex before… and I was vaguely aware of the scream accompanying mine, spurring me on and reassuring me in equal measure, letting me lose myself entirely in the waves that kept coming and coming, like tidal waves and I was drowning, but it was so exquisite to let them take me.

Her legs fell from my shoulders and I collapsed on her, rolling immediately onto my side and tugging her with me. I was still inside her, but felt no pressing need to disentangle myself as she buried her face in the hair on my chest, wrinkling her nose slightly, too tired to pull away from the tickling sensation.

I closed my eyes, holding her tightly, thinking that I could spend the rest of my life tangled with her long, luscious limbs.


	40. Chapter 40

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

A/N: Okay, so this is the actual end of smut for a while. :) And I won't be following the series--the story is going to go completely AU. I'm not certain if they'll even end up in Vegas...

Hope you enjoy.

* * *

Chapter Forty:

We woke up around ten, stretching and hungry. I planted another kiss on her lips which were still swollen from our morning activities, and asked what she wanted for breakfast. I ordered room service once again and wrapped a robe around myself to answer the door. We ate it sitting cross-legged on the bed, with the television on, but turned down low.

I glanced at her. "I, uh… Are you okay, honey? I… I didn't hurt you, after… the first time… did I?"

She smiled and leaned against me. "No… honey." She quirked her lips at the term of endearment and my heart fluttered. "It didn't hurt."

I wrapped an arm around her, kissing her cheek. "What do you think about a shower before we get ready to leave…?"

She stretched her legs. "Is it _just_ going to be a shower?"

I grinned. "It can be whatever you want it to be…"

She giggled. "Aren't men supposed to… not be able to go so often?"

I pulled the plate from her hand, setting it on the bedside table and moved in front of her, pressing her back into the pillows. "...Anyone who says that has never seen you naked, my darling…"

She giggled again, such a sweet, innocent little sound. "Well then we'd been get in that shower… we've only got an hour and a half before check out."

I jumped up, making her giggle again, and swept her up and into my arms, carrying her into the bathroom while she squealed and kicked her feet. It struck me, in that moment, that I couldn't remember ever being so happy. Not in childhood, or in the rainforest… not in school, or with my mother, or even in my memories of my father. Not in the lab, even.

I set her down, kissing her soundly before starting the water. She stretched again, an act which immediately caught my attention, and at my gaze she giggled again. "You act like you haven't ever seen me before…"

I shook my head. "You make me insatiable, Sara Sidle."

She giggled and stepped into the shower, and then looked at the wall in surprise. "This shower is… crazy."

I chuckled and stepped in behind her, pulling the door closed. "I thought it could be… rather interesting. If we could find a way to move the sprayers…"

She tilted her head. "What... what do you mean? What would moving the sprayers chang… Oh. _Oh_." Her eyes got wide. "Is that… sanitary?"

I chuckled. "Well, this is a shower… the one place you expect to be sanitary… but, I mean, if… if you don't like that idea… obviously we don't have to."

She blushed. "Well… it can't hurt to try it, right?"

I grinned. "Do you want to wash your hair first…?"

She took the shampoo bottle I offered her and quickly washed her hair, switching places with me several times so we could each rinse… and then she turned to look at me, and she looked nervous. For the first time since she'd arrived in the hotel room. I kissed her.

"Are you sure?"

She nodded, and I let my hands move over her body, caressing gently, pulling her to me, and she responded immediately, letting her hands wrap around my waist and move up and down my back, alternating between gentle strokes and the hard press of her nails digging in. I moved my hands between her legs, teasing her little bundle of nerves there for a minute, drinking in the feel of her arching against my hands and the moans that she was burying in the crook of my neck.

When she felt wet enough, I used my fingers, sliding into her and pumping them while she dug her nails into my skin. She bit my shoulder, and moved up on her tippy toes to let me more my hand more freely, and panted into my ear.

"Are you… are you ready, honey?"

She nodded, unable to string words together, by the look on her face.

"Turn around."

She looked surprised, but turned from me and pressed herself against a wall without sprayers. I put my hands to her hips, tugging her them back a little and tilting them up. She moaned against the tile, and I stepped forward, pressing myself against her and enjoying the sharp intake of breath she let out.

I reached down, positioning myself against her and slowly pushing. She hissed and winced, and I stopped. "What's wrong?"

"It hurts…"

I frowned and bent my knees, trying again from a lower position. "Is this better…?"

She let out another whimpering moan while nodding her head, and I couldn't help but smile at the reaction she had to me. She acted as though her body had never been alive before we'd been together, and I liked the idea of that. Because there was a part of me that believed the same to be true about myself—I had certainly never reacted to anyone the way I did to her.

I pushed up all the way, wrapping my arms around her waist and tugging her back to me, making sure I was as deep as I could be. I nipped her earlobe. "Does it feel okay…?"

She nodded, turning her head as far as she could in my direction, and I kissed the corner of her lips. I pulled back and thrust forward again and she gasped. "Still okay?"

Another nod, and I started a slow, steady rhythm, pumping in and out of her. She had her forehead pressed against the tile, her hands up by her face, and a constant stream of tiny little moans slipping from her lips.

I slid my right hand down, keeping the left arm around her to help support her and keep her from hitting the wall to hard with each thrust, and pressed against her. She moaned out loud, arching back against me, and I bit her shoulder gently. She started rocking backwards against me, meeting each thrust, and I went harder, wanting to hear her make a noise with each stoke, slowly speeding up until her upper body was practically limp, pressed heavily against the wall in front of her.

"Let's move, honey…"

"Hmm?" Her eyes didn't open, and she whimpered when I stilled my hips.

"Go to the other wall…"

I reached out and grabbed a towel and placed it over the sprayers that were at her shoulder level, knowing that when she arched her back out and let her upper body go, they would hit her in the face, and then pulled her hips out again, sliding in with ease this time. She groaned her approval and buried her face in the towel, using her hands to brace her against the wall.

I rocked slowly against her, listening to her breathing pick up again in response to my movements, and reached around her again, my left arm supporting and my right hand adjusting the sprayers. I turned the heat up, and nudged her the tiniest bit forward, so that the stream of water was squarely between her legs, pressing where my fingers had been just moments before.

She gasped and her eyes shot open, her body tightening around mine. "Oh… Oh, Griss…"

I grinned, speeding up again behind her, feeling myself responding to her vocalizations as much as the feel of her around me. I let my right hand occupy itself by pinching her nipples and rolling them under my palm. "…How does it feel, Sara? …Tell me how it feels."

She struggled for breath. "I… I don't know… weird, but… good. Oh, so good. And… hot. So hot… Oh god, Griss, I… I'm close. Will you… Please… please come with me. Please come… oh god."

Heat pooled deep in my stomach and I trembled. "Okay, honey… just hang on… hang on…"

I rocked harder into her, wanting to catch up to her, wanting to come with her, because she had asked me, and was there anything in the world I would deny her if I could help it? She wanted to feel us go together, and who was I to argue? Coming with her was the stuff of fantasies, and no matter how often we did it, I would never tire of it.

I felt the familiar chills chasing the burning feeling, racing from my shoulders to my fingertips, my neck to my lower back, my thighs to my toes and I gripped her tighter, resting my head on her shoulder and pumping, pumping, harder and harder, until…

"Oh, honey… I'm so… so close. Can you… can you come… come for me, baby. Come for me… Sara, come."

She clenched around me and, for the first time, did not let out a wordless scream when she went over. She screamed my name, and it echoed around us as I lost all control with a final hard thrust, feeling everything in me draining and emptying and filling, and I felt so _full_—so complete—that I saw no reason to ever more again.

Sara stirring beneath me, pushing off the wall, and the loud splat of the towel falling away from the wall and hitting the floor brought me into clearer focus. I stood, taking a step back, and felt myself slip out of her warmth. I turned her, gently, and pulled her tightly to my chest, holding her and rocking her gently side to side.

I knew now that I was completely, completely lost in her… and I only hoped that I could hold on to her, because I would be nothing, now, if I lost her.


	41. Chapter 41

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

A/N: You lucky readers, you! It's a snow day for me--no work and no school--otherwise I wouldn't be able to update 'til much later in the week.

Hope you enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Forty-One:

Christmas break ended all too soon, but life with Sara was so amazing that I had a hard time mourning the loss, even if it meant I would go back to seeing her primarily only in the evenings. She had brought extra bottles of most of her toiletries to my apartment, down the box of tampons beside my toilet paper under the sink, and had several spare sets of clothes keeping up residence in a drawer in my dresser.

I had to go into the office the few days before semester started, and once again, I left her with my car so she could purchase books and get ready for her semester to begin. She was in another forensics class I was offering this semester and we had discussed it at length after our night in the hotel room. We didn't want it to complicate our relationship—we decided that at school, I was Dr. Grissom and she was Miss Sidle. It would be a complete disconnect between who we were at home.

In theory.

…And somehow, without really thinking about it, we were in a relationship. A comfortable, confident, trusting relationship… I didn't stop to worry about whether I was controlling her for days at a time. Because she seemed happy. Why would she leave me if she was happy? If she seemed overly anxious for me to come home to her every night? If she couldn't wait to hear about my day and tell me about her classes and her impressions of her teachers and what she had learned…? If we shared a bed, night after night, and she welcomed me into her arms and her body with equal fervor?

I felt like I was breathing a sigh of relief for the first time in over a year. I wasn't afraid. I was happy too. I couldn't wait to tell her about my day and hear about hers… couldn't wait to draw her to me, for love or comfort or the simple joy of touching.

The problem, of course, is that moments—even days at a time—like this… don't last.

Two weeks into the semester, I was struggling to go from screaming her first name at night and calling her 'Miss Sidle' without any trace of a smirk during the day. I found myself watching her during class, neglecting attention to my other students, far more than I had when I could have simply called myself her friend. …Because then, I had wanted her to believe she was equal with the others. Now, I only had the desire to lift her up onto a pedestal, let her know how different and how special she was.

I was going to tell her that I loved her.

I didn't know how… I didn't want to rush that kind of thing. Especially considering the vulnerability involved. But I knew I was going to. Sometime. Sometime in the next few months… No rush. Because I could trust her with that weakness. I knew I could. Hadn't she trusted me with her own vulnerability from nearly day one?

She was angry when I came home on a Friday night to find her curled up on my couch with Hank, the dog. She didn't tell me so, but her lips were pursed more than normal… her eyes tight, her movements less fluid.

I kissed her and asked what she wanted for dinner, hoping to pull her out of the mood that she clearly didn't want to talk about, and she sighed heavily.

"I… I don't know, Griss."

I frowned. "…What's wrong honey? I mean… can I ask, or…?"

She scowled. "Nothing. …I just… ugh. I have to do a group project for my nine a.m. class."

I narrowed my eyes. "Oh… Is that… a problem?"

Her lips twitched in agitation. "…My partner is Hank."

My head jerked backwards in surprise. "Oh…" I frowned, disliking this turn of events. My only consolation was that she seemed displeased by it as well. "…Is there any way you can change partners?"

She shook her head. "My professor assigned them, and before anyone could say anything, said that he didn't want to hear anyone whining about not liking their partner—'we're all adults' apparently."

It took every bit of self control in me to shrug it off, tell her that it would be alright, and that it was better Hank than Ken. She carried the homework she'd had spread across the coffee table to the kitchen island, reading while I cooked another one of her favorites—my homemade Chinese. I had been in the mood for tacos, but considering the situation, I thought sesame chicken and some fried rice could only help me.

Stupid Hank.

I had been intending to grade papers that night, so we'd have the weekend free, but she finished her homework before I'd even finished loading the dishwasher and cleaning up from the meal, and I figured it could wait. I needed to be sure that she was mine, entirely. That the thought of spending time with Hank hadn't made her any less responsive to me.

I pulled her into the bedroom, and she giggled at the familiar look in my eyes, but did not hesitate to pull me to her and topple into bed with me, her passion meeting mine.

And I was reassured.

Until the following week. Monday afternoon she knocked on the door jamb of my office, startling me. We had agreed that she wouldn't come to my office, to keep suspicions of favoritism to a minimum. And without Sara frequenting, it had been a long time since I'd had more than the occasional teacher shouting pleasantries as they passed to get more coffee.

As my surprised look, her face became rather smooth—she put on a mask that I usually only saw in class. Before this semester, I hadn't realized how easily she could hide her emotions.

"Dr. Grissom? I was just wondering if I could ask you about the paper due next week… I'm having some troubles finding sources…" She stopped as soon as the door had closed fully behind her. I raised an eyebrow. She sat down across from me.

"I, uh… I have to meet with Hank tonight, for our project."

I narrowed my eyes. The project wasn't due for a week and a half and Sara had spent the weekend talking about splitting the work between them at the end of class today and maybe not having to meet outside of class at all. When I didn't answer, she sighed, and forged on.

"He has night classes every day except for Monday, and he's going out of town this weekend. That means that if we don't get together tonight, we'll only have one day to put everything together…"

I glanced warily at the door, and spoke as softly as she was. "You were saying you hoped you wouldn't have to meet outside of class at all…"

She frowned, glancing at the door too. "I was hoping that, but our teacher told us more about his expectations today. He doesn't want people to just split it up… we both need to contribute to all parts of our presentation. So it sounds like we'll have to meet outside of class… Honey," she glanced behind her again. "I'm sorry. I didn't want this either…"

I sighed, running a hand across my jaw. "I know. …So, uh… I guess I won't see you tonight?"

I cringed at my own words, and she did too. "No, I… I was hoping I could come over afterwards. He, uh… he's picking me up around four thirty…" she glanced at her watch. "I need to start walking in about fifteen minutes, actually."

I clenched my jaw. "He's picking you up? Why can't you meet him at the library?"

She pursed her lips. "The library closes early Monday nights. You know that. And I couldn't very well have him over to my place, with pictures of us and your spare clothes in my bedroom."

I closed my eyes, regaining my composure. It took everything I had not to get angry with her—because it really wasn't her fault. I knew that. "Okay, so… you'll call me when you're home, and I'll come get you?"

She nodded. "I wouldn't think it would take more than a few hours… seven thirty, eight o'clock at the latest."

I grit my teeth. "You're going to spend three and a half hours with him, at his home, with no one else around?"

I wanted to say that I was concerned for her—and a part of me was—after all, three hours was more than enough time to kill a person and since he didn't know about me, he wouldn't assume anyone would notice her missing for days. But in truth, I just didn't like the idea of _my_ Sara with a man who was clearly attracted to her, and who was younger than me. Especially knowing they'd be alone.

She clenched her teeth as well, seeming to finally get irritated with me. "I don't need adult supervision, Grissom. I'm an adult." My head snapped up to her face. "You either trust me, or you don't. …I'll call you when we're done."

She walked out of my office, mask back in place. "Thanks for your help, Dr. Grissom. I'll see you in class!"

And then she was gone, and I was left sitting in my office, speechless. What had just happened?


	42. Chapter 42

Disclaimer: I do not own.

A/N: I'm sorry it's short, but it's an update! :) Hope you enjoy, and thanks for the wonderful reviews, as always.

Also, there's now a website on my profile. I just made it over the weekend, so it's very much a WIP with none of my stories posted, but it has pictures/covers for some of my stories, if anyone wants to look. The ones I'm most excited about are for Consequences, Baby... they have the kids on them! :) If you do look, sign the guest book and let me know or include it in your next review. It would make me doubly happy.

Thanks!

* * *

Chapter Forty-Two:

I felt sick to my stomach. I hadn't been able to do any work after our conversation, and within the hour I'd gone home. I assumed she wouldn't be eating with him, and she didn't have time to make food at home, so I waited to eat. I took Hank on as long of a walk as I could tolerate, and then paced my apartment, anxious and upset, my mind full of things I didn't want to be imagining.

5:43

They were in his apartment. Were they sitting at a table, with books spread around them?

5:44

Or cuddled close on the couch? Sprawled on the floor?

5:45

What if he only had a studio apartment? The only place to sit would be his bed. Oh god! _My_ Sara in _his_ bed!

5:46

Okay. Let's be logical. I trust Sara. He picked her up at 4:30.

5:47

Ten to fifteen minute drive to his apartment, five minutes to pull books out and then they'd discuss the direction of the project and what they wanted to cover…

5:48

So they really would have just started working at five. So they haven't even been working an hour.

5:49

I turned on the TV. An hour and half would be long enough for them to get set up. Right? Right.

5:50

So I wouldn't start worrying until 6:30. That would be fair.

5:51

I forced myself to find something on at six o'clock and sit through it with Hank beside me, whimpering because I would not keep throwing his worn out tennis ball into the kitchen for him to chase. At 6:15 I gave up trying to sit through anything and got up, looking for things to do.

6:18

I fed Hank and gave him fresh water.

6:21

I started a load of laundry.

6:26

I put all our assorted books back on the bookcase.

6:28

I gave up waiting and grabbed my keys and my cell phone.

"Hank, come!"

He jumped down from the couch and we hurried out the door together, in search of our Sara. He rushed ahead of me, wagging his tail impatiently at the door to the backseat. I opened it and he leapt in. I didn't pay attention to my speed, but I knew that I was, because I reached her apartment in five minutes—something that had never happened before.

I parked in visitor parking, my car obscured by a garage, but with a clear view of her apartment. All the lights were off. She wasn't home yet. I glanced at the clock on the dashboard.

6:34

I was officially panicking.

She did not get dropped off until 7:43. I told Hank to lie down, so he wouldn't see Sara out the window and give us away, and rolled the window down an inch, hoping I might hear some of their conversation. I didn't see it as spying—I was protecting.

He parked. Why did he park? He wasn't going in, he was just dropping her off.

She got out, closing her door, and he did too. To my relief, she seemed confused. I couldn't hear them, but it looked like she was telling him not to follow her.

For some reason, he did. I could tell by the set of her shoulders that she disliked it, though. I chewed on the inside of my cheek. This was exactly what I'd been worried about… exactly why I hadn't wanted her to go with him.

He walked her to her door, and she unlocked it. He seemed to want to come in, but she turned, keeping her body between him and the door. He stepped forward, and her hand came up to his chest.

My knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

His hand came up to her cheek. She pulled away from him, shook her head, and the door closed between them. I breathed a sigh of relief, and watched him trek back out to the parking lot, get in his car, and drive away.

My phone came to life in my pocket, and I breathed another sigh of relief.

"Hello?"

"Grissom?"

"Hi, honey…"

"Will you come get me, please?"

I considered briefly lying and saying I'd be there in ten minutes, but decided against it.

"I, uh… I pulled into the parking lot just before you did. I… was worried."

I could almost hear her frowning through the phone, but she didn't vocalize her objections. She sighed heavily.

"Alright… I'll be down in a second. Have you eaten? I'm starving…"

I smiled, pulling out to park in front of her apartment, where Hank had just been. "No, I was waiting to eat with you… Sara?"

"Hmm?" She sounded like she was rustling through clothing—probably for a change of clothes for the next day.

"…I missed you."

The rustling stopped, and a slow breath escaped. "I missed you too, Grissom."

She didn't sound mad or irritated with me anymore, and I breathed a sigh of relief. She came down less than a minute later, and we were in my apartment, ordering a pizza, before eight o'clock. And after we ate, I pulled her away from the homework she was working on and dragged her into the bedroom.

"Griss… my homework…"

"…Can it wait one day?"

"Well, it can, but…"

"Let it wait then… I need you…"

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Because I was with Hank?"

I eased her gently onto the bed, moving over her.

"Because I can't stand to spend that much time away from you…"

She smiled then, exhaling and meeting my kisses with equal enthusiasm. And as long as I was kissing her, touching her, inside her… as long as she was in my arms—as long as she was _mine_—I could forget about Hank and the night apart and all the horrible thoughts that had gone through my mind. She was here, with me, now… and that was what mattered.


	43. Chapter 43

Disclaimer: I don't own them. :(

A/N: Hope this pleases. It's a longer update, for me. :) Reviews?

Oh, and Jelly, your last review to this story has made me laugh each and every of the roughly twenty times I've read it since you posted it. Just so you know. :)

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Chapter Forty-Three:

The rest of the week was better. Tuesday night, Sara was swamped with homework because I'd monopolized her time the night before, but I managed to get a good deal of my grading done, and even wrote out the first test for one of my classes—not the one Sara was in. I always did those during my office hours, because if we did get caught, I didn't want there to be any accusation of cheating. She worked too hard at school for that.

Wednesday night we spent trying to teach Hank, the dog, to sit. Thus far, he'd learned come and lay down, and nothing else. Sara was convinced that he didn't actually know 'lay down' either… he was just so lazy that it always seemed like he was listening. And I loved that about her—loved her dry cynicism that was somehow still innocent and loving. No one had ever called a dog lazy with as much affection as Sara bestowed on Hank.

God, I hated the dog's name now. Maybe we could switch it to another baseball player's name… hell, we could start calling him 'dog' for all I cared. I even tried it, Thursday night, before Sara got home… he wouldn't answer to anything but his name.

We were stuck with it.

She worked on the project she was doing with what's-his-face on Thursday night, which put me in a mood. I think she could tell what was bothering me, but pursed her lips and disregarded my scowls. As long as I didn't say anything, she wouldn't either.

And Friday night was just for us. We made lasagna and took our plates and wine to the bedroom, to watch a movie. We curled up when we were finished eating, and I let myself relax a little more. Once this damn project was over, I'd be much happier. And really, that was soon. Weren't they presenting Wednesday and Friday? A week at most. I could handle that.

The weekend went too quickly, as always, but it was carefree and blissful, and what more could one ask for?

And then Monday rolled around again, and I was on edge. The way she had told me about their meeting to do the project the week before had certainly left room for another meeting tonight. We hadn't discussed how much they'd gotten done, so I didn't know if they needed to get together again tonight. I tried to mentally prepare myself for that possibility, because she clearly disliked it when I let my jealousy show, but it did very little for me.

She stopped in my office that afternoon, the way she had the week before, asking for clarification of an article in a journal, and when the door was closed, she told me they were meeting to finish up that night. I drew in a deep breath, trying to be calm.

"So, uh… he's… picking you up, again… at 4:30?"

She nodded, "Yeah, but… I don't think it'll take as long tonight. We just need to finish up a few things."

"So… when should I pick you up?" I asked, hoping for a time. She wasn't fooled, and her eyes narrowed again, her head tilting back in slight aggravation.

"When I call you. I don't expect it to take as long, but it could. I don't want you waiting outside my apartment at like… I dunno, six thirty, and not have me show up for an hour…"

I had neglected to tell her exactly how long I'd been outside the night before, but chose to keep this information to myself. I pursed my lips. "Okay… I… I'll be waiting for your call."

She seemed relieved and smiled brightly at this answer. "Great. I'll see you tonight!" She moved to the door and pulled it open. "Thanks Dr. Grissom… I understand this so much better now!" She glanced back and forth down the empty hallway, and then turned and gave me an exaggerated wink and a sparkling grin before heading off to walk home so _Hank_ could pick her up.

I trusted Sara. I did. I didn't believe she would cheat on me.

But I knew for a fact that Hank wanted her, and that he was more persistent than he had any right to me. Wasn't that grounds for concern? He could hurt her… force himself on her… drug her… I shook my head slowly. Working in a crime lab had seriously skewed my perceptions—being raped or drugged was not the norm for most situations, and I forced myself to remember that. Just because my life experience was that it happened daily didn't make it a common experience.

Maybe I should follow him to his house, just so I'm close, if she needs me.

No, I told myself. She'll see your car and be angry.

I gave up on work, however, putting my things away and locking my office and hurrying home. At least there I could let my distress show. It was too hard to act remote and unaffected with all of this going on. Hank bounded to me, and I told him to sit rather harshly—he rolled over. I rolled my eyes. Sara and I were not very good at teaching him tricks, apparently.

I slumped onto the couch, trying hard not to think. But when you think about not thinking, you think about what you shouldn't be thinking about, and before you know it, you're thinking about it.

I put my face in my hands. I was seriously losing it.

I clung to my one desperate hope—she had said she probably wouldn't be as late as she thought tonight. She would be home soon. And by the way she had answered my question—that she didn't want me out there at 6:30 if it ended up going late—I gathered that 6:30 was roughly when she expected herself to be done. Having a time in mind was helpful. It didn't stop me watching the clock, but it gave me a precise moment at which panicking the way I was was allowed.

Well, more acceptable.

Kinda.

But when 6:31 came and my phone hadn't rung, it took everything in me to stay home. To not go to her apartment again, and wait for her again. I paced. I threw Hank's ball. I cleaned the apartment, I started the dishwasher, I made coffee. I pulled out papers to grade and then put them down again impatiently, unable to focus. I turned the TV off and on several times. I pulled a book from the shelf to abandon it a second later.

Hank was up, following my agitated steps around the apartment, whimpering in concern at my actions.

My phone rang at 7:15, and I dove for it, frantic.

"Hello?!"

She sounded startled. "Uh… Hi. Grissom?"

"Sara." Her name was a sigh of relief on my lips.

"…Hi. I'm back now, if… if you wanted to come get me."

"Yes. I'm leaving right now. Five minutes."

I could hear the smile in her voice—was that for me, or because I hadn't been waiting outside already? Why was she happy that I hadn't seen Hank drop her off? "Great. I'll be ready when you get here…"

"Great." My voice was tight and I hung up, already racing towards the door, Hank on my heels. I was trying my hardest to control the frantic emotions that had not entirely left me yet, but it was a struggle.

What had taken so long? Why did she sound happy to know I hadn't witnessed her drop off? What had Hank done that she didn't want me to know about?

It only took me five minutes again, and true to her word, she was waiting. She came out, locked her door, and rushed down the minute I pulled up. I took a deep sigh, trying to calm myself. I didn't want to fight with her.

"Hey. How'd it go?"

She smiled and pecked my lips before I backed out of the parking space to leave. "Not bad. We're done with everything now, at least."

I smiled—music to my ears. "That's good."

There was a brief silence in the car, and then she turned to me. "I have to tell you something."

Oh god. My heart was racing at those words. Nothing, nothing good could come of them. I drew in a deep breath, but sped up the car. It would be better if I wasn't driving when she told me. "Okay…"

"He, uh… he asked me out again."

Deep, calming breaths. "Again?" When had he first asked her? Last week?

She frowned. "You remember the week that you told me I should date people my own age?"

Right. Okay. That time. Right. "Okay…"

She frowned. "Well, I mean, that's it. Obviously I told him no. I just… I didn't want to not tell you and have you upset."

I swallowed. See, no reason to get upset. She told him no. Of course she told him no. "…like you didn't tell me he wanted to come in last week?" I cringed. God damn it. I hadn't meant to say that. Not really.

She turned her gaze on me. "Well, as you admitted to waiting in the parking lot and _spying_ to make sure I didn't _cheat_ on you, I figured it went without saying. Again, I obviously said no."

Okay, no self-control left. "But this wouldn't have happened at all if you hadn't gone to his place!"

She raised her eyebrows at me. I realized with some surprise that we were home and I parked. As soon as I had, she turned in her seat to face me. "I'm sorry, Griss. Next time I'll inform the librarians that my professor boyfriend insists they keep the damn place open late because he's jealous of someone I dated—at his request—and then ran away from crying because he wasn't you. I'm sure they'll make an exception."

She opened the down and lurched out of it, slamming the door and walking angrily towards the apartment. I launched myself out as well, hurrying to catch up to her. She was fast though—it must be those long legs—and I didn't catch up to her until she was unlocking the door. I followed her in and closed it behind me.

"Well, you could have told him not to go out of town this weekend because the project was more important. The library is open on weekends."

She kicked her shoes off, ignoring Hank who was wiggling around her knees, begging for a scratch. "Yeah, and then I would have given up a full day with you. Would that have made you happier?"

I cringed, and then sighed. "No…"

She huffed and sat down on the couch. I sat beside her. She tensed, and it hurt my feelings. I didn't want to fight, I just hated the powerless feeling I got when she was off with some other guy and I had to sit and wait to lose her. I pursed my lips, thinking damage control. I wanted to turn the conversation away from my foolish inability to control my mouth even when I knew better. I glanced at her.

"…I don't want to fight, honey. You're home, the project is finished…" I put a hand to cup her cheek gently. "Let's… let's just be done." I bent and kissed her softly, and though she tensed at first, she let her breath out through her nose in what felt like resignation and returned the kiss.

And like last week, I began to feel like my insecurities could only be soothed by taking her. I needed the reassurance that she was mine—that she desired me as strongly and came to me as willingly. I deepened the kiss, running my tongue along her bottom lip and slipping it into her mouth, my free hand finding her waist…

And then she was gone. She had pulled away from my kiss. Not only pulled away, but now she was standing, looking down at me with a frown. I was dumbfounded. She had never done that to me before. She crossed her arms over her chest. I narrowed my eyes. "…What are you doing?" Apparently, that was the final straw.

"…You can't just fix everything with _sex_, Griss! It doesn't just go away, no matter how many times you make me come! Ugh!"

She had never yelled at me before. She had never been angry with me like this before. I didn't know what to do. My jaw was dropped and I was floundering. She turned tear-filled eyes to me and then away, walking out of the living room and through the hallway to the bedrooms. I was frozen for a brief second, and then I was on my feet, chasing after her.

"Sara!"

She stopped outside the bedroom, turning to look at me. Without the hall light on it was hard to tell, but it looked like some of the tears she'd been fighting had fallen. She sniffs and looked at our feet. "…What?"

I tilted her chin up gently and looked into those deep, dark, endless eyes. "I'm sorry." Her lips curled slightly up, like she didn't believe me. Like I was only saying it to appease her. I frowned, upset. "Sara, I… I don't know why you think I'd apologize when I'm not sorry, but…"

I sighed in frustration. "Do you have any _idea_ what it does to me to think about you with him?!" I ran both hands through my hair in absolute desperation.

"It… I can't stop seeing… You kissed him! You kissed him and… and you said that he all but invited himself in, back then! So when I… I saw him last week, trying to invite himself in, and then I was thinking of when you two had dated and how… how his hands would have been on you, his lips… the thoughts of you he must have had. Can't you understand how just the idea of you with another man rips me apart, Sara? I l—"

I hesistated, my abrupt stop obvious, and her jaw dropped, her eyes locked on mine. In the space of a breath, I made up my mind and charged forward. "I love you, Sara. I love you so goddamned much and I just can't stomach the thought of him wanting you and touching you. I _can't_."

She released a breath through the shaky fingers that had come up to her mouth, and then she flung herself forward, wrapping her arms around me and kissing me. I let myself fall into it, relief surging through me. She pulled back, her hand on my cheek, her thumb on my bottom lip, her eyes deep and sensuous. "I love you too, Griss. I… I love you so much."

She kissed me again, deeply, fervently, endlessly, and backed up, pulling me through the doorway behind her, into the bedroom. That night was even more amazing that our first time, because I could finally say it. And I did. On whispered breaths over her skin and in breathy, disbelieving moans when she touched me, in soft grunts as I buried myself again and again and in great, shuddering declarations as we exploded together.

She was wiping her eyes afterward, laughing at herself and apologizing for being so emotional, and I held her and kissed her and reassured her. Because I felt the same—there was no possible way to share another person in the way we had and not feel emotional. I couldn't remember the last time I'd cried, but the familiar prick at the back of my eyes told me I was rather closer than I ever would have expected.

When she fell asleep with a hand over my heart, tucked in the crook of my arm, I didn't question or plan or obsess—I gave no thought to control—I simply closed my eyes, reveling in the extreme disbelief that someone so wonderful and beautiful and amazing could truly love me back.


	44. Chapter 44

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

A/N: Short but important. :) Don't be mad at me.

* * *

Chapter Forty-Four:

_Sara: _

I only had one class on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so Grissom would usually park in the parking lot of the sociology building and walk to his office, so that I could take his car for the rest of the day when I was done. I would generally wait half an hour or so after my class got out, so that I could be fairly certain that no one who knew me would be walking near when I went to his car.

Thursday, however, I was due to start my period—something I had forgotten, thanks to an unexpected round of morning sex that left us both running out the door to not be late for our classes, silly grins on our faces.

Good lord, I loved him so much. Even more so now, that he seemed more… human. I had loved him when he was the unattainable professor, but I was beyond head over heels for the man who screamed at the TV during baseball games (football I understand, but baseball?!) and who baby talked the dog, and who grinned like a teenager at the idea of getting some.

Anyway, gratuitous use of his morning erection aside, I was worried about bleeding through my favorite pair of jeans while waiting for safety's sake. It hadn't come yet, but if I waited forty minutes…? Not worth the risk.

So I was walking to his car, a smile on my face at the delicious soreness in my limbs, with at least a quarter of my classmates heading in the same direction. It was a physics class though—there were only one or two students I knew from the forensics department. Risk was low.

Just as I was putting the key into the lock, looking forward to curling up in bed with Hank the dog (Grissom didn't let him come up on the bed, so when he wasn't home it was our little secret) and finishing off my homework so we could have the night free, I heard it.

"Hey Sara." I turned. Shit, what was her name? Purse girl, from the first class I'd had with Grissom. Miss-Designer-Handbags, I think I'd called her through that whole class.

"Hi… How are you?"

She quirked an eyebrow. "Good. I, uh… Is that Dr. Grissom's car?"

My eyes widened. "Oh… no. No, it looks like his though, doesn't it? It's uh… it's my cousin's car. She's in town for the week, and since I only had one class today and she likes to sleep in…"

"Right."

"Well, uh… I'd better get back to her. See you later…"

"…Okay. Bye!"

I climbed in, hoping against hope that she had been as stupid as she seemed in that class—Grissom had parked in a teacher's lot, something I would not have had a pass for. With a jolt of panic I ripped the pass from the rear view mirror and turned to look at her retreating back. Had she looked back at me? She looked vaguely as if her head had just been turned…

I pulled out, and left campus in the opposite direction, frowning.

I had a feeling that this would make Grissom very, very angry… He would be mad at me for not seeing her there, wouldn't he? …Maybe I wouldn't tell him.

Maybe.

_______

A week or two had passed since our fight and the subsequent three words which had scared me so much when I hadn't said them. But saying them… saying them daily, hourly, on every breath and in every thought… it wasn't scary. It was… invigorating.

She told me she had another group project with Hank coming up—her professor told them to expect the same partners all semester. And I expected to fly off the handle… to cause another fight, have another panic attack, try for the hundredth time to rename the dog… but it didn't happen.

I frowned a little, and told her to take my cell phone with when she met with him, just in case she needed to call for help. I trusted her—I loved her—but it didn't mean that I trusted him. I would worry, while she was gone, but somehow I knew that… that it was different, now.

Because she loved me too.

And somehow, in the depths of her dark eyes, I just knew that Sara was not the type to love shallowly. When she said it… when she felt it… it didn't go away. She was mine, and what was better—I was hers.

Valentine's Day was coming up, right around the corner, really… and I needed to start planning. What could I do that would outdo the hotel? It was so very frustrating to not be able to parade her in public… maybe I would be done at Harvard after this semester. I could contact crime labs in the area and offer myself as a consult—there were only about fifteen forensic entomologists in the country, I'm sure I would be needed—to pay the bills. And then Sara and I could have a legitimate relationship, without the secrets.

I would take her to the best restaurant in town—the kind that you buy a new dress for—the kind that didn't put the prices on the menu, because if you had to ask, you couldn't afford it. I would buy her the dress, wear my best suit… treat her like the princess—No, she wasn't a little girl… I would treat her like the Queen I knew she was.

Maybe I could even talk to her about the consulting idea… ask her if, come this summer, she would move in with me. We'd have to pay a penalty for breaking her lease early, but that was an acceptable price to pay. …Maybe we'd get a three bedroom… we could have an office and a guest room. My mother could come stay and meet her. She wouldn't like how young Sara was, but she might just be happy that I was in a serious relationship.

Come to think of it, we'd been very careful. We hadn't had any close calls. Maybe we could risk a real date, out in public, on Valentine's Day.

What's the worst that could happen?


	45. Chapter 45

Disclaimer: I do not own.

A/N: Dun Dun Dun! (That was scary music, btw.) Sooo, let me know what you think. Nonnie, you should be so very proud of yourself. You caught my being-sneaky-ness. :)

* * *

Chapter Forty-Five:

_Sara:_

After Miss-Designer-Handbags confronted me, I couldn't relax. I flinched at small noises, I was always nervous around Grissom, and I was always around Grissom, so I was always nervous.

When after a week or so passed and we didn't hear anything, I relaxed a little… at which point I realized that while I had been due for my period, that day… I had never gotten it.

I hadn't realized, because I had been so worried. But now… now I was even more worried.

Had I forgotten a pill? Had I taken one late? I didn't think so, but I couldn't be certain… I had never been super vigilant about taking them exactly on time. But usually it was within the same hour every night…

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

What would Grissom say? How would I tell him? Would he be angry?

I should get a pregnancy test, first.

No—I should take it with him. That was only right.

_Right?_

…I'm only eighteen.

Will I have to drop out of school?

…What do I do?

_____________

I had the entire night of Valentine's Day planned—out on the town, dressing up, dancing, coming home and dressing down… exhausting each other, and then snuggling up to eat ice cream and watch a romance, and maybe exhausting each other again. I had sent Sara to the mall with my credit card the previous week to pick out a dress—I wanted to go with her, but she said she wouldn't let me pay for the dress unless I let her make it a surprise. Probably for the best anyway—going out on Valentine's Day was risk enough.

It was a Wednesday so we still had to go to school, go through our classes. It took everything in me not to stare at her all through the class I had her in—she was so very beautiful, and she'd been teasing me about what her dress would look like for the past several days. I had had to leave earlier than her, this morning, leaving her sleeping in her bed. …So she was more than a sight for sore eyes, and I struggled to keep my mind on what I was teaching.

She, however, didn't seem to paying attention. She certainly didn't look excited for the night ahead of us. I wondered if she was getting sick… she'd been quieter the last few weeks and she looked pale now. I frowned. Maybe we'd have to postpone our evening out.

I was anxious to talk to her after class, and she followed me to my office, but then my cell phone rang. I was fully prepared to ignore it until I looked at the number on the display. It was Catherine. Catherine Willows, from Las Vegas. Catherine-who-I-haven't-talked-to-in-a-year-and-a-half. I frowned and told her to give me a second, and answered the phone.

"Grissom."

"Hey… it's me."

"Hey Catherine… It's been a while. Listen, can I give you a call back I'm right in the middle—"

"No, actually. This is important. …Really important." I narrowed my eyes.

"Oh… okay. Just, uh… give me a second, will you?"

"Sure."

I muted my phone and then glanced at Sara. "You have another class in a couple minutes, don't you?"

She nodded. Her grave line was set. She looked… upset. I don't know exactly how to define it beyond that—there might have been a level of fear in her eyes, but I couldn't be sure. She just didn't look right.

"Apparently this is something important… It might be a while. I don't want to keep you from class."

She bit her bottom lip and looked between me and the door and then stood up. "Okay, but, uh… We need to talk, okay?"

I narrowed my eyes. Those were horrible words. I felt my mouth go dry. "I… What?"

She shook her head. "I'll tell you later." She turned to leave, and I was panicking.

"Wait! …Is it… I… You have me worried now. …You, uh… You're not… leaving me, are you?"

I hated how vulnerable it made me sound, but I had to ask. I couldn't not know until we got to talk again. She half-smiled and shook her head. "No, honey. I'm not leaving you. I promise. …We'll talk later, okay?"

I let out a sigh of relief, closing my eyes and nodding. "Okay… See you later." I mouthed the words 'I love you' and she mouthed them back before slipping out of my office and closing it behind her. I sighed again and, after a moment, remembered I had put Catherine on hold. I unmated the phone.

"Catherine?"

"There you are! I was beginning to think you'd put me on hold and then forgotten about me like you did to Ecklie that one time."

I smiled brightly at that—it was a rather fond memory. "No, no, I didn't forget you. I just had to finish up with a student."

She chuckled a little, but it sounded strange. "Yeah, that's, uh… that's kind of why I'm calling you."

I frowned. "Because of one of my students?"

I could almost see her shaking her mane of golden hair behind a shoulder as she prepared to speak. "Yes, actually. I, uh… I got a call yesterday right before shift started. This is the first chance I've had to call you."

I glanced at the clock—It was 10 a.m. That made sense—she would have had to get Lindsey to school and shower and eat. "Okay… What was the call about?"

"Well, it, uh… it was the Head of the Anthropology Department at Harvard."

My heart rate sped up. I didn't want to think about this. What on earth—why had he been talking to…

"Gil? You still there?"

I swallowed, "Yeah… I, uh… I'm here. What… what was this about?" My eyes flickered to the door, grateful that Sara had closed it.

"Well, he wanted my opinion on your… ethics."

I closed my eyes. Shit. "My… ethics?"

"Yes. I… well, I told him they were impeccable. That I'd never known a more honorable man."

My heart swelled with gratitude—and perhaps shame?—at her words. Catherine thought so highly of me, and yet I was not really an honorable man. "Why, uh… why did he ask about that?"

I could hear her frown. I could see it in my mind's eye. "He said that a student reported some… suspicious behavior. He wanted to know whether he should take it seriously or not."

I grit my teeth. She still hadn't told me anything. "Catherine. Stop beating around the bush. Tell me what he said."

She let out all her breath in a huff. "He said that a student believes you are involved in a relationship with another student. He said that her evidence was circumstantial, at best, and that she didn't have the greatest of reputations to start with… but that when he mentioned it to… I don't know what he called it—I think it's the person under him. A vice-head-of-department?"

"His vice-chair. Yes, and?" I interrupted, anxious. My heart racing. I was sweating. I was panicking.

"Well, this vice-chair said he wasn't sure—which is why he hadn't said anything sooner—but that he thought he'd seen you at a hotel over Christmas break, and that he could have sworn he saw you in the same room he'd seen a young girl in their department go in hours earlier. Gil, tell me that none of this is true."

"Cath, why on earth did he tell you all of this…?"

There was a brief pause. "…I'm can be very persuasive. …Gil, you didn't answer my question."

"I have to go. Thanks Catherine!"

I hung up and sat still, frozen, for one very long moment… and then I was up, stuffing papers into my briefcase. I would e-mail my T.A. when I got home and tell him that a family emergency had come up. I couldn't be here right now. I couldn't deal with this. I just had to… go. I needed a minute to think.

I breathed a deep sigh of relief when I drove off campus, and an even deeper one once I had emailed my T.A. and sat down, with nothing left to think about but the problem. He had said the girl didn't have a good reputation… and Catherine had told him I was honorable. If we skipped Valentine's altogether… If we stopped going out in public together, then maybe nothing would ever come of it. Maybe they would decide they didn't believe the girl and it would all blow over.

My phone rang. My god-damned phone rang and I jumped probably three feet in the air and looked at the display, panicking again, certain it would by my Department Chair. It was Sara. I answered without thinking, just so relieved.

"Hello?"

"Hey… I came back after class and you were gone. We, uh… we were gonna talk."

I blew out a breath. I couldn't talk to her right now. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know how to prepare her for what was coming for us. "Sara, I… I can't talk right now."

"Oh… okay. Well, it's kind of important and…"

"I just, I really have to go."

She paused. "But I don't want to leave it until tonight."

"Sara." I said, aware that my voice was too harsh but not caring in the moment. "We will find time to talk. At this point, I don't even know if there will be a tonight. So please, just let me go."

I heard her breathing hitch on the other side, and I waited for her to answer… waited for her to yell or cry. She didn't. Silence hung between us, leaving me feeling empty.

I sighed, already filled with guilt for how I'd spoken to her. Once I calmed down and I could be sure I wouldn't snap again, I'd call and tell her how sorry I was. It wasn't her fault… she stood to lose as much as I did from all of this. But in the mean time, it was best just to get off the phone before I said something else wrong.

I opened my mouth to speak again—to end the call—but then hers came. "Okay, that's, uh… that's fine…"

It was clear and hollow sounding. I could tell, even without seeing her, that the mask I'd only come to know in the last month or so was on her face. Because her voice was expressionless too.

"I just wanted you to know that I'm almost three weeks late for my period."

And then she was gone.


	46. Chapter 46

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: So, enjoy! :) Let me know what you think...

Jelly, I have to admit, I'm anxiously awaiting your reaction to this chapter. :) Because they're so funny, and there are a few of his thoughts I think you'll dislike even more than normal. Oh, and I directed this Grissom, in between his panic attacks and control-monstering, to eat lots of fruit. If that makes you happy. :P

...Anyone in the mood for Capri Sun?

* * *

Chapter Forty-Six:

I admit it—when I first realized what it meant, I freaked out. A lot. How on earth could we hide a pregnancy when they were already suspicious of us?

But after a few minutes of panic—okay, a few hours… it's a lot to take in!—I started to think about the possibilities. After all, you can miss a period after being pregnant only two weeks. She might only be a month along… worst case scenario, she was a month and a half. The end of February would be two months, March would be three, April four… and finals were in the first or second week of May. If she wore baggy shirts or sweatshirts, she might not even show.

The baby would be born between the end of September and mid-October… Sara could take the fall semester off. I had already been planning to be done with Harvard this semester anyway. And then she could go back to school next January, when she was recuperated and rested and the baby was old enough to go to daycare… and things would be okay.

Better than okay, actually. …I mean, sure, she's a little young to be a mother. It wasn't something we would have planned… but it wasn't like it was the end of the world. I could easily support the three of us while Sara went to school.

And what better way to exhibit control over Sara? I would never have to play mind games with her again—she would be _mine_ simply by virtue of the fact that we had a baby. We'd get married, eventually. I mean, we could right away if she wanted, or we could wait for the baby to be old enough to be a flower girl or a ring bearer. Either way.

In truth, this could be the blessing of a lifetime. Why hadn't I thought of it? It was perhaps the best way to ensure that she wouldn't leave me and it hadn't even occurred to me.

I doubted that I would have manipulated the situation to get her pregnant intentionally… but I would have slept with her sooner, certainly.

I hoped she wasn't too upset. I hoped she knew that I would take care of her and our baby. She wouldn't have to give up any of her dreams for this—she could still finish school, become a CSI if she wanted, or a physics teacher…

I called her, then, because I wanted to tell her how sorry I was and how happy I was for us. How completely ecstatic that we were going to have a baby!

But she didn't answer. …And that didn't exactly feel like the type of thing you said in a message. So I waited.

I called again, and then I waited, and called some more.

Was she avoiding me? Was she mad at me? Surely she could understand my surprise—why I wouldn't have called her back immediately. She had to know that I had just been distracted… Once I could explain what Catherine had told me, she would understand why I was short. Wouldn't she?

We would just have to stick it out until finals… be careful in public… maybe she should drop my class, just in case. And she should move in, right away. At least until this summer. Once finals were over and grades were out and my resignation in, we could go house shopping… find something with a nice little nursery close to the master bedroom, and a yard for Hank.

I called her again, and this time she answered.

"Hello?" She sounded like she might have been crying.

"Sara?"

"…I'm not gonna bother you, Griss. You're _busy_."

I almost laughed at the child-like sneer she put in her voice with those words. But I didn't.

"Honey, I'm so so sorry. Please, will you let me explain to you why I acted the way I did?"

There was a brief pause. "…I don't want you to treat me differently because of this."

I shook my head. "Honey, I was already thinking that I needed to apologize before you told me. I just… I wanted to give myself a chance to cool down. Listen, something happened today."

"…Something happened?"

"You're done with classes, aren't you?"

She sniffled. "…Yeah."

"Let me come pick you up, okay? I want to talk to you about this in person… I want to talk about everything in person, Sara… I… I'm so happy. I know it's scary and it's unexpected and it's new but… but I want you to know that even though it was unexpected, there is not a single thing in this world that could make me happier."

Her voice sounded… hopeful, now. "…Really?"

"Really, Sara. I love you more than anything and all I care about is us… and that we're happy, okay?"

I can hear her nodding against the phone, one hand brushing tears from her cheeks. "…Okay. …You're gonna come get me?"

"I'll be there in five minutes, Sar'-Bear, okay?"

"…Okay. I love you."

"I love you too. Bye, Sara."

"…Bye Griss."

I hung up and raced out the door. I needed to tell her that I'd wanted us to move in together even before I found out that she was late and I needed to tell her that I'd been planning to quit at Harvard anyway. I needed to tell her that we'd make the most perfect, most beautiful little family I could ever dream of. I needed to tell her that I would support her, and take care of her. I needed her to know that she could finish school.

I needed her to know that this didn't change anything.

…And then, I would need to tell her that we were suspected, and that I didn't know what was going to happen. Hopefully, we could keep our relationship secret until May—and hopefully my Department Chair would wait a month to see that I was not signing up to teach any classes the next semester and decide it wasn't worth investigating a doubtful lead if I was leaving anyway.

Maybe I should tell him now.

No, that's too suspicious. He'll know you talked to Catherine and that you feel guilty for something.

I sighed. I didn't know what I was going to do about it. …But I knew I needed Sara, and our baby, more than anything. I knew I loved them more than anything. And that was all I needed to know.


	47. Chapter 47

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: :) Let me know. Thanks for the reviews. They made my night.

* * *

Chapter Forty-Seven:

She wanted to get a test that night—but I wanted to spend the night showing her how much I loved her. I told her it could wait—that it was such an emotional thing to go through. No matter what the test said, our reactions would be strong… I wanted this night to just be about us.

She was worried about us getting found out, but there was nothing we could do about it just now—we'd just have to be careful, and wait and see. They didn't have any concrete proof—we'd deny, deny, deny.

We dressed up anyway and I cooked for us and we danced around the living room to music on the stereo while Hank scurried around us, wanting to be in on the fun. We made love, and the dark was filled with soft whispers of love and devotion and I told her how I'd take care of her and how I'd love our baby and how I hoped it would look just like her, because she was the most beautiful thing I'd ever known.

She cried softly and kissed me hard and loved me deeply.

And we did curl up in bed, naked and under the covers, with Hank grumbling on the floor, sharing ice cream and watching a romance movie. When it was over, I escorted Hank from the room, closed the door, and left us in darkness again. I pressed her down into the bed we shared each night and draped my body over hers. I kissed her softly and let my fingertips relearn the feel of her skin and the shape of her curves.

I moved down her body, laying love and attention sporadically, and stopped at her stomach, covering it in kisses and promises of love and the very best life I could give him or her. I just knew that she was and I wanted our child to know that it had been loved from the moment we knew he or she existed. Maybe we'd get a place in the suburbs… maybe I'd build Sara a huge library in a brand new house as a wedding present. She would love that.

She shivered, softly, and her fingertips slid along my scalp, into my curls, tugging my lips gently back to hers and devouring me—gently, completely. I lost myself in her kiss, forgetting everything but her, and she led us that night, to the ends of the earth and back, until exhaustion swept us away.

And the next day, we prepared ourselves to face the day and any of the suspicions that might be laid against us, with the thought of the test we'd be taking at the end of the day and the good news we hoped it would bring. I was already thinking about Sara's little frame holding a big belly and the look of mirth I knew I'd see in her eyes when our baby kicked or rolled over.

So even being called into my Department Chair's office that day did not upset me. I sat easily, a dreamy look on my face, and asked what he needed.

"Well, Gil… I know at this point it's purely circumstantial evidence, but I thought I'd discuss it with you anyway… cover my bases, you know?" I put on a politely perplexed expression.

"I'm sorry, George… what's circumstantial evidence?"

He frowned. "Well, there's a student who seems to think you might be in a relationship with another student."

I narrowed my eyes sharply. "You can't possibly believe such a thing, George."

He shook his head slowly. "I don't know what to believe at this point, Gil. Forgive me, but the student in question—a… Sara Sidle… I've seen you around her in this building. If there were a girl I would believe this about, it would be her. You should see the way you look at her."

I frowned, looking down. I had not expected this man to be so perceptive. "…There's no harm in looking, George. I know the boundaries."

He reclined in his chair, watching me for a moment. "…You do have quite a bit to lose, I suppose. Not just in the academic world, but in the criminal justice circles as well… Who would trust a criminalist who was banging a student, right?"

I cringed at his choice of words but said nothing, not trusting myself. He crossed his hands across the large belly he had. "…No, I guess that would be too big of a risk for you. …And for her. I mean, if you think this could damage your reputation, just imagine what it could do to hers…"

I shifted in my seat. I had thought I had much more to lose than Sara. But I couldn't say that, so I sat silently. He put his feet up on his desk and surveyed me more closely. "I mean, you know… getting caught… it would throw her grades into question, of course. And that, in turn, would throw all of her academic integrity into question. …Hell, she could even be suspended. …And then, socially, you know… we're a big school. It would be big news. Anywhere she went, she'd always be the girl who fucked her teacher."

I flinched at his expletive. "George, please… this is hardly respectful to the girl. It's a non-issue."

He tapped his feet to some unknown beat in his head. "Ah, you are a gentleman, aren't you Gil? Worried about the girl… I told you I'd seen something. …You look at her like you'd like to devour her. …Well, as you said, no harm in looking… and she _is_ worth looking at, isn't she? Too bad you met her when she was seventeen."

I grit my teeth. "As I have not been involved in an inappropriate relationship, I don't know why her age makes a difference."

"Right, right. Of course. I just meant… you know, that would make the whole thing worse. If it had happened. …Because then there'd be the questions of statutory rape, wouldn't there? I mean, age of consent or not, you're in a position of power where she's concerned. Nothing could be consensual, could it? And who's going to trust the man who slept with his student when he says that nothing happened before she turned eighteen…?"

I shifted again. "George, really…"

"And then imagine if she got pregnant. Could you imagine what that would do to her?" He sat up, scooting back up to his desk and opening a manila folder he had in front of him. I glanced at it nervously—it was Sara's file. "Did you know that she had near perfect test scores? Near perfect, and she took the ACT when she was fourteen, the SAT when she was fifteen. She was scored against seventeen and eighteen year olds, and as a fourteen year old, she was ranked in the top one percent in the country. …God, that's impressive."

I leaned forward. "I understand. It's not a problem. I don't know where you get your information but—"

"No, no, Gil, I know. It's not like I have evidence to hold against you… I'm just thinking this through out loud. …'Cause it would be a real disaster, don't you think? Brilliant girl like that. Do you know what she wrote about, for her essays?"

I shook my head slowly. "Her first one was about a complete reorganization of the foster care system… it was as complex as any government document, Gil, and well thought out. …This could work. …I mean, hell, we're Harvard, and this is still an exceptional essay to receive from a freshman. She probably spend months tweaking the details… The second one was about science and math—how they were the foundations of our understanding of everything around us, and that while she didn't know what she wanted to go into, she knew that she wanted to find a way to use them to change the world for the better… find a way to help people. The way she writes is… reverent… poetic. She loves learning."

I swallowed. "I know that, George. Listen…"

"I know, I know. You look but you don't touch, I get it Gil. I'm just saying… somebody that smart… with a heart like that… someone who's crawled their way up from nothing. With the education she's getting here, she could change the world. She probably will. I just couldn't fathom anything getting in the way of that… I mean, like I said—about how bad a pregnancy would be. She'd be miserable. …and even if she came back to school, later, it wouldn't be the same… and she'd always be torn, wouldn't she? Big heart like hers. She'd never be able to approach the world with the same fervor—the same drive. Because she'd be torn between her dreams and her baby."

He leaned back in his chair again and lifted his feet back up. "Well, anyway, I know I'm just going off—none of this means anything to you. I'm just thinking… it would be a hell of a lot for her to risk. I'd certainly hope that anyone she'd be willing to risk that much for would care about her enough to not let her… it'd be a shame for her to give so much and get so little in return, don't you think?"

I nodded, numbly, and he smiled. "Alright. I did my job. Suspicions unfounded. Thanks Gil."

I stood up, awkwardly, my mouth dry. I felt like I had no feeling in my extremities. "…Yeah. Thanks George."

I left his office, and though I knew Sara would be home already, I didn't go home right away.

…I just couldn't.


	48. Chapter 48

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

A/N: ...yeah. You guys aren't going to be happy with me. :)

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Chapter Forty-Eight:

…How could I have done this to her? Put her in this position, twisted and distorted something that should have been so real and pure and honest?

If I had loved her—really loved her—I would have quit my job when it became apparent that she was more important and presented myself to her as an honest suitor. But I hadn't loved her—I had wanted to own her. And now I did. Her future was mine. Her body was mine. Her heart was mine.

But I found no satisfaction in the four letter word anymore.

She shouldn't be mine. Not the way she was.

I knew her history… I knew how hard she'd worked to get to this point. And yet I had allowed her to put her entire future on the line for me. …Allowed. No, I had manipulated her into putting it all on the line, and she had still done so more honestly and honorably than I had… with not nearly as much to lose. Me, with all the power.

Because he was right—how could I think that it had been a completely consensual affair? Even disregarding that I was fifteen years her senior and her teacher… I had made certain that the balance of power was off, because I didn't want an equal, I wanted a dependent.

Sara was far too beautiful to spend her life beneath someone else. She was fucking brilliant. God-damned amazing. She had her whole life in front of her and she was going to change the world, I knew it. I knew it as certainly as I knew the precise shade of brown in her eyes and the exact sound of her laugh. I drew in a shaky breath, feeling tears come to my eyes.

I had been so incredibly selfish. I had allowed my own insecurities to override any thoughts of what was right or wrong… any thoughts of what Sara deserved and what Sara needed and where Sara was going in her life.

And what could I do to fix it now? She was about to lose everything because I hadn't been able to control myself. She deserved so much better than I had given her, and I knew that I would never be worthy of her. My actions were unforgivable and I had destroyed her. Completely.

…She didn't even know it. She was just happy that I was happy, because I had conditioned her to fear my disapproval, and I was happy because it meant that she would be tied to me for the rest of our lives. I hadn't wanted the baby because I wanted to be a father and because I wanted to spend my life with her—I did want those things, but they had not been the reason I wanted a baby.

…We might have a tiny body, half-beautiful Sara and half-twisted, deceitful me, growing inside her at this very moment, and even knowing the amazing, unbelievable miracle that was life… my only thought had been that our child, too, could be used as a pawn in my game of how-can-I-increase-my-power-over-her.

...They both deserved better than me.

I forced myself to go home and behave as if I hadn't just been shaken to my core, because there was nothing I could do about it now. I wasn't about to abandon a pregnant eighteen year old girl and the baby who would bear my name. But I knew, in the depths of my soul, that the very best thing I could do for Sara would be to walk away.

She was young, she would recover… move on. I wouldn't—I never would—but she would. She was a fighter. She could survive anything.

I say so flippantly that I would walk away—I don't know that I would have the strength to leave her, even now, knowing what she risks and the extent of my abuses. Because I had abused her. As surely as her father had abused her mother and her brother and god forbid, my darling Sara herself, I had been no better. I had laid no hand on her, but she would bear the scars forever.

…I was selfish. And even lamenting the pregnancy now because I had never realized how much it would hold her back and threaten the life she'd tried to build and because I now knew that I could deserve neither of those blessed creatures… even knowing this, and wishing there were not a baby waiting for me inside her…

I was happy that she was pregnant. Because it meant that I couldn't walk away from her. The decision was out of my hands. I didn't have a choice—I couldn't walk out on either on them. My fate decided for me. I didn't have to trouble myself with the morality of staying with her after all I'd done or worry about what would be in her best interests—there was a baby who needed me.

We ate dinner, and I told her that I'd tell her what George had said later—I was so tired. I didn't have the energy now. She smiled sympathetically and rubbed my forearm and after dinner she fidgeted until I smiled softly and kissed her and asked if she wanted to take the test. She sprang to her feet, her cheeks rosy, her eyes bright.

The single most amazing thing I had witnessed, my whole life long—Sara happy. I breathed in the moment and stood outside the door, talking to her while she read the directions and fretted over doing it right and told me not to listen.

She emerged, stick in hand, moments later. She set the test on the counter top and wrapped her arms around me, kissing me and telling me that she just knew she was and she hoped it was a little boy with my eyes and my dimples and my brain. I held her tightly to myself, reveling in the moment, so happy that despite the rebirth of my conscience I could stay here and keep her for my own.

"It's time!" Her husky voice murmured against my ear and I gripped her tightly, simultaneously elated and immensely saddened. After this, there would be no going back. The end of everything Sara could have had and been, because of me, was here. It felt akin to Armageddon.

We moved to the counter again, as a pair, perfectly in sync, down to each bated breath.

It was negative.


	49. Chapter 49

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: Okay! We're all done! I'd just like to thank everyone for all the wonderful reviews! You made writing this story so amazing for me!

I posted this and the epilogue together, because I didn't want to make you wait, but I'd love to get reviews for this one before you read the epilogue, so I can get your reactions. If it's not too much trouble. Thanks again for everything! Enjoy!

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Chapter Forty-Nine:

I wrapped my arms around her immediately, because I could see how crushed she was. I could see the disappointment in her eyes. She had already loved it, we both had, and so even though we hadn't ever been pregnant, it still felt like a loss. I kissed her softly and held her tightly and after a few minutes, she looked up at me.

"…We'll try again though, won't we?"

I frowned. "…So soon? Maybe… maybe we should wait until you're out of school, honey."

She whimpered. "I… I thought you wanted a baby."

"I do." I said, drawing her to my chest again. "And when I thought there already was one, honey, it was fine but… but if we have the ability to plan, don't you think it makes more sense to wait?"

She shrugged gently against me. "…You're so disappointed though."

I swallowed. She hadn't said it, but if there was one thing I knew it was the woman in my arms—she meant that she thought I was disappointed in her. …And that sort of clinched it. I mean, I comforted her… I told her I wasn't disappointed, I told her that there would always be time later, but I had also crossed a point of no return at the realization that she was afraid I would be disappointed in her for not being pregnant. It made me realize how far I had pushed this—and what I had to do now.

I gave her some time—a week, two… so that it wouldn't be so close to 'losing' the baby we'd never had. And then I sat down with her and I told her we needed to talk. …I was coming clean.

She bit her bottom lip. "Are you breaking up with me? Griss—I'm sorry. I really thought I was pregnant. I… we can try again or… or never again. Whatever you want."

The desperation in her voice told me I was doing the right thing. "Sara, honey, listen… I, uh… I have to tell something. …A lot of somethings."

She frowned and looked at her feet, her hands twisting in her lap. I sighed. "…When I first met you, honey… I knew that I had to have you. I knew immediately that… that you were something else. Otherworldly. That I would never find another girl… woman… like you, even if I spent the rest of eternity searching."

She looked up at me, eyes wide and hopeful. She thought I was being nice. I scowled and looked at her hands. "But I also knew that I couldn't have you. I couldn't have you because I was your teacher, and because you were so young, and because I knew that to… to have you honestly… to become romantically involved with you… would mean that, someday, I would lose you to someone younger and more attractive and more deserving."

She raised her head and opened her mouth to argue with me but I held up a hand. "I… I won't ever get this out if I stop, honey. I'm sorry…" I ran a hand over my forehead in agitation. "…I knew that I wanted you, and that I couldn't be your lover—"

"I was seventeen—I understand that."

"No, Sara… I did this before I knew you weren't an adult. It was not because you were a minor; it was because I'm a coward and a fool. Honey, I… that first day in my office, you… you looked so eager to please. You wanted my approval… you wanted to know that I thought you were smart and competent. And I saw the fervor in your eyes—the longing for just the tiniest praise—and I saw an opportunity. I couldn't be your lover, but I could still have you."

She wrinkled her brow in confusion and I sighed. "I… I manipulated you, Sara. I answered you in certain ways and denied you praise even when you so deserved it because I knew that if you didn't receive it you would only try harder. I made you work for it, and I loved the way you looked when you finally received it, and I loved that you were dependent on me for that approval."

She frowned. "I… I don't understand."

I nodded, slowly. "Okay—I'll… I'll say it more directly. Sara, when I first met you, I didn't want to be with you—I couldn't—but I also wasn't willing to _not_ have you. So I decided that if I could possess you, that would be just as good. Maybe even better. …I had no intention of claiming you, at least not for many years to come… but I wasn't going to let anyone else have you and I wasn't going to let you have yourself either. I set up situations to make you dependent on me, I manipulated our interactions to make you want me, I twisted our relationship so that you felt like you were okay with what I was doing to you… I made you feel like you were asking for too much when I was demanding everything of you."

Her corners of her lips twitched back several times as she blinked rapidly, attempting to hold off tears. She shook her head again. "I… I still don't… understand."

I closed my eyes. "I used you, Sara. Every interaction between us, every intimacy, every soft word… they were calculated. I disregarded how I felt in favor of considering how it would affect you—I wouldn't be your lover because it made you my equal. And when we were lovers, I wouldn't sleep with you because I wanted it to be on my terms. I wouldn't tell you that I loved you, even though I had known I loved you for almost a year, because I didn't want you to feel like you had power over me."

She sniffled and wiped at her cheeks. "But you _do_ love me. You just said it… you love me."

I nodded slowly. "I wouldn't be telling you all of this if I didn't. …I would just have continued."

A sob slipped from her lips and she wiped frantically at her eyes again, distraught. "I… I don't know… what to say. I…" She sobbed again and then buried her face in her hands. I watched her cry, wanting so badly to wrap my arms around her and offer comfort, but resisting. I had to stay strong.

"Honey… ninety percent of our relationship has been a lie. I love you so much—It's the only thing that's important enough to… to make me give you up."

Her head snapped up and she choked on a sob. "W…what? No! Griss… You love me. You said you loved me. …Stay with me!"

I shook my head slowly. "I want to. More than anything."

"This… This is about the baby! I'm… I'm so sorry. I wanted to be pregnant, Griss… we'll try again! We'll… Here…" She stood up, starting to tug her shirt off and I stood up in alarm, wrapping my arms around her as she sobbed into my shoulder in defeat.

"Honey… stop now. This isn't about the baby. I don't blame you at all. …This is about you. It's about us. You… you're better off without me."

"No!" She clung to me, desperately, and I had never, ever known pain like this before. I felt the tears burn my eyes and I tried to look away to blink them back but she was holding my face and drawing me to her and kissing me with such aching desperation that I could not keep them in and they slid down my cheeks like they hadn't since I was a child. I wrapped my arms around her and pressed kisses into her hair and stroked her back, trying to calm her, and all the while a steady stream poured from my eyes, seemingly endless.

I waited for her to calm, and I wiped my cheeks angrily, and I drew in breath again.

"Sara, honey… listen to me." She shook her head no. I sniffled. "Honey… If I stayed—the dynamic for the relationship is already set in place. …It's so hard to break that kind of thing. And then… and then you have to realize how much doubt will be in our minds."

"…Doubt?" Her voice came shaky and frail. I nodded.

"If we stayed together… You would never know if I wanted you for who you are—as an equal and a partner—or if I wanted you because it makes me feel powerful to control someone so young and beautiful and vivacious. …Even if I stopped manipulating, I wouldn't stop owning you. How could you trust that I could love you as more than a possession?" Another sob slipped from her lips and her eyes squeezed closed in pain, more tears leaking out. I sighed, feeling my own start anew and not even bothering to blink them away this time.

"And… I would never know if you loved me because you truly know who I am—my soul—and love it as the second half to your own… or if you believed you loved me, because I made you believe you did. Or because I was your first love and your first time and the first man to love you maturely. I wouldn't know if your affections were a product of my manipulations—believe me, you wouldn't know either… you spent a year and a half begging for my approval and fearing my disappointment without knowing why you did such a thing—or honest feelings of love."

She shook her head slowly. "I loved you from the beginning. I loved you before you manipulated me."

I shook my head too, just as slowly. "Sara… there wasn't a time that we knew each other that I wasn't manipulating you. After… everything you've been through… Do you want to spend the rest of your life with a man who could treat you so poorly? A man who could disregard your feelings and your thoughts and your right to make choices of your own free will?"

She swallowed hard. "No, but…I want to spend the rest of my life with you. …You're not that person."

I wanted to look down—in guilt and shame and regret—but she deserved better. I looked her in the eyes, blue to brown and both wet with loss. "Yes, I am."

I offered to leave her Hank, but she wouldn't hear of it, and I offered to leave her money, but she wouldn't let me. I left her apartment and spend the night alone—for the first time in ages—and I cried like a baby. Like I hadn't since my father died. I cried for everything I'd done to her, and to myself, and at the sheer impossibility of our situation. I had twisted everything so dramatically that there was no way to untwist it now and go on. It was my fault, and I hated myself.

If I had loved her any less than with every fiber of my being and with everything that I am, I would not have been able to walk out her door. But I did. I loved her, and she was everything, and I gave her the opportunity for the kind of life she deserved.

I hired movers to come take the things back to Vegas and I returned the car I had leased in favor of a rental car that I could drop off somewhere in Las Vegas. I emailed George my resignation and heartfelt apology along with my list of grades for the class and a long list of daily instructions for my T.A.s. I boxed up the things of Sara's that were in my home—keeping only a Harvard t-shirt that smelled like her—and deposited them on her doorstep. I thought about knocking, but I didn't.

I went to her back and made another sizable deposit—knowing she would not have let me help otherwise—and Hank and I piled into the rental car back to Vegas. My tenants' lease would be up in May—I'd find a place that rented for a couple months at a time and stay there.

I had the plan—the pieces of my life back together—but they were nothing, Just pieces that wouldn't fit together, no matter how you turned them. A broken puzzle.


	50. Epilogue

Epilogue: June 1996

I walked out of the court house, feeling satisfied. I had almost been late this morning—I'd had a run in my nylons and one of the heels of my best black shoes had broken. I'd spilled the milk, dropped my foundation—thus breaking the little pancake and making a very beige mess on the carpet in my bathroom—and almost forgotten the case file next to the coffee pot.

I definitely deserved a break. Maybe I'd call one of my girl friends, have a night in to eat too much chocolate and bash the men—or lack thereof—in our lives. …Then again, I might just order a pizza and take a lot, hot, bubble bath. This case had left me exhausted, and now that we'd finally won, I just wanted to take a moment to breathe.

I turned the corner, digging in my purse for my keys, thinking of the look on Susanna's bright little face when they let her run back to her mother. She was a nine year old girl who'd grabbed a knife to try to protect herself and her mother from her abusive father—and in his drunken stupor, he'd fallen forward while trying to back the girl into a corner and the knife she held in frightened little fingers had killed him. The state had argued that there was no proof he'd fallen—they'd wanted to send her to a juvenile detention center. They'd lost.

I found the keys, and straightened my body quickly, only to slam into another person and drop the keys. "Oh, excuse me!" Damn it. I never looked where I was going. "I wasn't looking. Are you all…" I finally looked up, catching the eyes of the poor man I'd all but assaulted.

They were dangerously blue, and deep, and they took the breath from my lungs the way they had eight years ago in a giant lecture hall in Boston, when I was sixteen going on seventeen and had never been in love.

"Sara?" His voice had only improved with age—it was deeper, smoother, slower. I drew in a deep breath.

"Grissom. I…" I exhaled in a rush. "I… This is… a surprise." God damn the man—it'd taken me years to get over him, and just the sight of him was making me dizzy all over again. I swallowed hard.

He nodded. "It is. You… You look good. What… brings you to San Francisco?"

"Oh," I shrugged. "Well, you know… my mom's here."

His eyebrows raised. "Oh. …I, uh… I'm glad you're talking to her, now…"

I nodded, uncomfortable. "Well, it, uh… it was really nice seeing you again."

His eyes told me he was disappointed with my dismissal. "Yeah… it… It really was. You… you look every bit as amazing and successful as I knew you would be." He looked down, nodded once to himself, and started past me, in the direction he'd been headed.

I made a split-second decision. "Hey, Griss?"

He turned to me, a surprised kind of hopefulness drawn across his features. I couldn't help but smile. "Are you… busy right now? Maybe I could take you out to lunch..."

He grinned—the light, boyish grin I'd always loved. I felt my heart race and I cursed it. He nodded. "I'd really like that."

"My… my car's just around the corner. If… if you wanted…"

"Yeah…" He came back to me, and we walked towards it, me just a step in front of him, leading the way. I could feel his eyes on me and for a moment it felt like not a day had passed, and the tingles I got from the caress of his gaze was a familiar friend.

"So, what… brings you to San Francisco?"

He looked a little uncomfortable. "I, uh… I'm doing a guest lecture at Berkeley, actually." I almost laughed at the look on his face. But I didn't.

"Still working at the Vegas lab?" I gestured to my car, indicating that we'd reached it, and unlocked it with my key remote. We slid in at the same time.

"Yeah… I'm actually the Graveyard Shift Supervisor now."

"Good for you." I knew this, of course. Not because I'd paid attention to his career specifically—but you could hardly discuss forensics among colleagues without _someone_ referencing the great Gil Grissom.

"What about you? …Assuming you were coming from the court house, I'm going to guess you didn't become a physics teacher?"

I laughed, pulling out of my parking spot. "No, actually, I didn't. …What are you in the mood for? There's a great sandwich place a few blocks over."

"That'd be great. …What did you go into, then?"

I smiled, turning on my blinker. "I'm a forensic social worker."

His eyebrows raised and I caught the hint of a smile on lips that were still so very perfect. He'd grown a beard—it suited him. "That's impressive. …Sounds very like you. What area do you work in?"

I smiled. "I mostly work with children. I'm often an expert witness—I'll testify as to whether or not a child was aware of their actions. In domestic abuse hearings, I often act as the guardian ad litem for the children. I get to work with the living rather than the dead. …You always used to say that in forensics we're the victim's last voice. …I get the be the victim's first step into speaking for themselves."

"I'm happy for you." His words were sincere. Honest. I glanced at him in surprise at the genuineness with which he spoke. He gave me a slight smile. "I always knew you'd be amazing."

I felt heat fill my cheeks and focused on pulling into the parking lot of the restaurant. I jumped when I felt the back on his fingers brush against my cheek. "You still blush so easily…"

I gave him a half-smile, trying to pay attention to parking. Six years had done nothing to lessen the effect he had on me. It was with absolute relief that I moved the car in into park and removed my keys. He was watching me.

"What?"

"I just… can't believe I'm seeing you again. I didn't think I would…"

"Disappointed?" I asked, and I was proud that my world not longer hinged on his answer. Yes, I cared. You could even say I cared too much. But it wasn't life and death any more. He didn't have to like me and I didn't have to live up to his expectations.

He shook his head. "No. …I've missed you."

"You hurt me."

He nodded. "I know."

"Not least by leaving."

"…It was the right thing to do."

I tilted my head in contemplation, but nodded anyway. "I wouldn't have agreed at the time, but it was. I… I couldn't imagine still being so desperate to please someone else, without a thought to myself."

"It wasn't healthy."

"No." I agreed. "It wasn't."

There was a brief silence and he glanced at the restaurant. "Did you want to go in?"

"…Are you sure it wasn't about the baby?"

He sighed. "I didn't leave because you weren't pregnant, no. I told you—I left because I loved you too much to keep you in a relationship that was beyond repair. But the…baby… was kind of my turning point."

I narrowed my eyes. "How do you mean?"

"I wanted the baby—in part because I wanted to be a father and because I loved it and it would've been ours—but mostly… I wanted it because it would mean you couldn't leave me. You'd be mine forever. …When I realized that I obviously considered nothing too precious to use as a pawn… I realized I had gone too far."

"If I had been… pregnant?"

He shrugged. "I wanted you to be—because it would mean I wouldn't have to admit to my sins and leave. Because I would have to support you and the baby."

I nodded—I was grateful that I hadn't been, but the memory was still bitter sweet, even if there had never been a baby at all. It was a loss, regardless.

He gestured once again to the restaurant and this time I nodded and we slipped from my vehicle, walking side by side inside. In another time, we would have held hands. I felt myself missing the contact acutely.

We ordered quickly and found ourselves seated in a booth ten minutes later with cold sandwiches and hot soup before each of us.

"How's your mother?"

He smiled. "Harping about grandchildren, actually. She thinks that if I don't have them now, she won't live long enough to see them."

I smiled. "Are you married?" I hadn't seen a ring, but then lots of people didn't wear their rings daily.

He shook his head. "No." He looked down and then, as if gaining courage, looked back at me. "No, I… I told you once that I wouldn't find somebody like you if I searched for an eternity, and I meant it. My mother doesn't understand why I tell her that it's not going to happen—but she should. She never got over my father…"

I felt breathless; I swallowed hard, trying to get my bearings. I couldn't speak, and he noticed and cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry. …That's probably terribly inappropriate. I just… it was honest. I owe you honesty."

I looked down at my untouched sandwich and then back at him. "…I'm afraid of you." I admitted. He looked like it pained him but I took no joy from it—I had forgiven him so long ago. Perhaps before he'd even left, I'd forgiven him for leaving me.

Eventually, he looked at me again. "I understand that. I… I'm sorry… about that. I wasn't… trying to get a date."

"Why not?" I frowned. A man who gives you goose bumps even when you haven't seen him for six years tells you he never got over you, and he doesn't want a date?

He looked surprised. "I… Oh. I guess… I didn't assume I had the right, anymore."

I shook my head. "I'm not the same little girl you wrapped around your finger."

At this, he gave me a smile. "That much was obvious seconds after we bumped into each other. …You look different. Happy. Confident. Self-assured."

"I am." I told him. Because I was. I had a job that I loved, my mom was my best friend, and I owned a condo and a car all on my own. I had a masters from Harvard, lots of girlfriends, and no shortage of interested men. If I wanted them.

I didn't.

He nodded. There was silence again. "So… If I did ask you out… that… that wouldn't be… weird or… horrible, of me?"

I shook my head. "No. It wouldn't be weird or horrible. I… I wouldn't trust you, at first. You'd… have to earn it."

He breathed in deeply. "That's more than I deserve."

"No," I frowned. "That isn't true. …The way you were wasn't… right, but… You did love me and make me feel loved and… I don't think it's more than you deserve. I just think… it's what I need."

He smiled, a sigh of relief slipping from his lips. "Well, uh… How about tonight? Are you busy? I'd love to take you out…"

I felt a slow smile cross my face and a deep contentment filling me. He wasn't perfect, and neither was I, and our history would make things terribly complicated. But I'd always known he was the one and… things were different now. We were on level footing, approaching one another as equals. That was enough.

"I'd love to."


End file.
